


Sÿn

by Kaoz



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-08 17:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaoz/pseuds/Kaoz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sunnydale sunk, The Scoobies went off to gather all activated Potentials... they missed one. John thought he was saving her...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shelter Me Part I

** Shelter Me **

 

_The day was warm, sunny and bright; people came outside to enjoy it. The sky was blue and full of white puffy clouds, just a normal spring afternoon and the guys walking down the street towards the café didn’t mind the press of co-eds milling on the sidewalk. Levy cast a few appreciative glances at the girls in their short dresses and smiled. Beside him, Valen followed the same girls with an equally admiring eye._

_“Hey,” Levy nudged him, getting his attention. “Don’t put the moves on my cousin.”_

_“I can't flirt?” Valen looked surprised by the restriction._

_“You’ll scare her.” Levy assured. He knew his cousin had spent the last ten years in some school, sheltered from ‘the real world’ and having to deal with her Mother… It couldn’t be easy to come home to a family that had no place for her. Levy could empathize. His first time home on leave, he had felt out of place in his own house. Everyone seemed to tip-toe around him, avoided or was just uncomfortable in his presence. They had no idea what he’d experienced or how to talk to him._

_He didn’t want Sÿndra to feel left out but there wasn’t anything he could do about her parents’ house._

_“C’mon man-.”_

_“Look,” Levy stopped in the middle of the block and faced his friend. “She’s not…like the chic’s we pick up alright.” She was quiet, shy – sort of… “Sÿn's … different.” The problem was, even he didn’t know how different because there wasn’t much she would talk about and asking about the school always quieted the room. The whole situation was very uncomfortable._

_“Ok,” Valen agreed. “I was only fucking around.”_

_They walked a block before Valen asked; “She’s the one from the picture, right? Long black hair, smoky eyes, that pouty-.”_

_“What the fuck did I just say?” Levy demanded as he rounded on his friend._

_“What.” Valen stepped back, both palms raised and trying not to laugh. “I'm just asking-.”_

_“Valen, you're skating fucking air, man.” Levy huffed._

_“Dude, that makes no sense.”_

_Levy took a threatening step towards his friend when; “Levy!”_

_Both of them turned towards the café and the outside patio. They saw Sÿndra waving at them from a table in the shade. Levy waved back, smiling._

_“Keep it clean, asshole.” He warned as they headed to the main entrance._

_“Perfect gentleman, dude.” Valen agreed as they wove through the tables. “My Mom taught me manners.”_

_“Prove it.” Levy threw over his shoulder._

**S** ****

Sometimes they came back. They managed to find her and they always arrived with plenty of back-up.

_‘I stayed too long.’_

She should've moved on as soon as the threat was gone. The moment she dusted the vamps and torched the house… Instead, she’d slept the past three days on and off, feeling sorry and torturing herself with the past. One more family dead.

It wasn’t her fault.

She’d never met them.

_‘But I couldn’t save them.’_

She had been too late for that.

 **S** ****

_Their blank stares and sightless eyes haunter her. She saw their blood splattered faces-._

_“I believe you.” Levy hadn't at first, when Sÿndra finally told him about the ‘boarding school’. He had assumed everything had been too much; she was stressed out about her classes, being in a dorm with a bunch of girls though he'd though that would’ve been familiar. Levy never openly disbelieved her, but then she never brought it up again. How did anyone believe that vampires, werewolves-every scary monster movie freak, was real?_

_“This isn’t your fault.” Levy gripped her arms tighter. He shook her slightly and her tear streaked face looked up from the ground. “We survive the robed psychos. Then, we figure out what to do next.”_

_She gave him a slight nod and Levy almost breathed a relived sigh but they weren't safe yet._

_“Don’t fall apart on us, little coz.”_

**S** ****

Their silence was unnerving; it was the only thing about them that really scared her. She’d seen uglier faces, smelled worse too but the silence… Even their movements were quiet. It was creepy.

_‘I'm going to die.’_

She was almost certain of it because running only worked for a little while. Running gave them time to bring in reinforcements. 

_‘Road.’_

She could see it through the break in the tree line and turned towards it. She heard the rumble of an engine, all she had to do was time it right. Make it so the scarred freaks were right on her ass when she ran across the road …

 **S** ****

It was late afternoon and the sun was only just beginning to set. Two more hours and he'd be able to stop, get some rest.

He never saw what came dashing across the road but he certainly felt the impact.

“What the hell!” John hit the brakes and swerved, the truck skidding to an angle and more thunks echoed on the side of his truck bed. John looked in his mirrors, he saw the partial bodies and then on the opposite side of the road … _‘What the hell?’_

Monks.

They look like Friars and as far as John knew they didn’t run into the path of moving vehicles or attack young women –

He didn’t think twice of backing up his truck and flattening a couple more. He reached for his gun and jumped out, he gave her some room to breathe but he also recognized her.

 **S** ****

_He tried to focus on her, to ignore the throbbing pain that insisted he pass out. John Winchester is too stubborn for that and so he focused on the girl. The same girl he had seen tied up and hanging from the beam along with two other civilians. Missing people he was intent on rescuing and it had looked as though he would be in time._

_“Fucking…White Knight.” It had been the same during the war; when he was young and doing his duty. He did not hesitate to help those who needed it. Twenty years later and John Winchester helped in a different way._

_For today, John is part of the rescue-es. Hurt, or not, John doesn’t plan to sit on his ass and leave all the work to her. He struggled to his feet, clutching at his thigh and the bleeding gash slowly oozing blood past the pressure of his hand._

_‘_ Stitches.’ _He would tend to that later, back at the motel once the hunt was done; when the civilians were safe._

_“Help us!” “Get us down!”_

_They hadn't stopped screaming to be cut down. The woman kept crying, from the moment she realized John was there and free to move about, she kept begging to be saved. None of them ever shut up, which made it much harder for him to actually save them._

_He kept an eye on the Enchisa; there were two, which John had expected. It was the third that caught him by surprise and now he wondered why the pattern was so different than he'd been informed.  The girl didn’t seem to have any trouble with them at all. John paused to watch her; she was a thing of beauty. Graceful, fast- every move a smooth progression to the next. Her movements were so natural; John thought it was unconscious now, like breathing. This is what he had pushed his boys to embody and while they were both the best John had seen in his life … the girl had none to compare to._

_She planted her foot in the bony chest, using it to push off and arch into a flip as she kicked up. John held the knife in his free hand, he watched the Enchisa grab at her ankle and the next instant her foot connected with its chin. The head snapped back sharply while the rest of its body flopped as though marionette strings had been cut. It landed on its back, head at an awkward angle and the last one screeched loud and piercingly.  The sound was cut short; Enchisa clawed its bony chest only causing more damage while John wondered where the hell she had pulled out that dagger from._

_The screaming civilians reached a new note of fear with their cries for help. John saw the reason for it at the same time as the girl._

_“Cut them down.”_

_John didn’t question the order but it didn’t mean he liked the fact this girl was telling him what to do when it was his job to save them. He would rather have secured the door and left her to cut down the screaming civilians. Instead he hobbled his ass towards the ropes feeling like he was wading through molasses. He heard the door slam shut as he sawed through the first piece and then his duffel landed by his feet._

_“We’re going to die!”_

_“Oh my God!”_

_“Please, please, please, I don’t want to die-!”_

_“Screaming doesn’t help. Shut up!”_

_John eyed her, the harsh words in contrast to the whiskey notes of her voice. Their cries became muffled blubbers while she knelt in front of him. John bit his lip as she brusquely brushed his hand aside and inspected his wound._

_“It’s deep.”_

_John grunted in reply and focused on banishing the black spots now dancing at the edges of his vision. The tearing sound was accompanied by a mild protest he was vaguely aware of uttering. He felt her hands on his thigh tying a tourniquet. He winced when she pulled it tight._

_“Can you make it up there?” she pointed and John followed in the direction above to the catwalks._

_“Yeah.”_

_“You two, up. Move!” she barked and hoisted the woman off the floor where she had been sobbing about her screwed up choice in men and the bad luck that always seemed to follow her because she never should have gone on that date. John hadn't noticed when she finished cutting the civilians down. Then again, he no longer had his knife. She pushed the pair to the metal rungs forming the basics of a ladder and got them climbing without much more urging._

_“Find an exit or make one.” She ordered but they likely hadn't heard her over the panic consuming them. “Get them safe.”_

_John found himself focusing on her face; she was pale, her eyes a smoky shade of charcoal with sparks of silver. She was definitely young but certainly not a girl- a young woman, yes and by the weariness in her eyes maybe a lot older in life experience than John could ever guess. She turned away, to the door where the hollow banging was insistent, already dismissing him._

_“Wait a damn minute.” John growled as he snagged her wrist. “You are not staying down here-.”_

_“Listen.” She cut in, her tone hard as she looked him in the eyes without fear. “I'm not yours so don’t pretend you can tell me what I can and can’t do. I can handle this. And you_ are _going to go. Now get a move on-.”_

_“You're going to die.”John caught the stillness of her features at his words. There was no initial panic, no fear … her voice lost some of its harshness._

_“Then you better make sure you're all safe. Or I’ll be seriously pissed off the Muhka ate all of you.”_

_John frowned. He had no idea what she was talking about and glanced to where the Enchisa were trying to get through. They were a distant relative of the Wendigo, some physical similarities and as far as John knew, the same kill tactics applied._

_“The what?”_

_“Up the ladder or I toss you.” She demonstrated by tossing his duffel up to the catwalk. It was filled with weapons, ammunition- more gear than she should have been able to lift and yet she hadn't seemed to notice how heavy it was._

_“How…” John eyed her up and down, her small frame much too thin, he had thought her weaker than she proved and his brain was slow to work through the options of how it was possible…_

_“I really don’t want to hurt your leg more than it is.” Her hand wrapped in to the lapel of his jacket with a firm grip._

_“You can't-.”_

_The door screeched in protest, the banging on the opposite side becoming more insistent. It buckled under the pressure but still held._

_“…krap.” She muttered with a glance to the door._

_“We can help each other.” John insisted. He wasn’t sure why, he just didn’t want her on the ground floor with the monsters alone. She frowned at him. “This is what I do.”_

_He was a Hunter and John had learned to be prepared._

_“You're hurt.” She re-iterated._

_“I can still shoot.” He glared in annoyance. He didn’t appreciate the dismissive tone of hers just because he was wounded. The last thing in his plans was to get clawed by the Enchisa but he'd been careless, more surprised by her slipping from the rope she’d been tied with and strung up._

_“We take the high ground-.”_

_“Pick them off.” Her expression changed slightly, considering another solution to whatever she had been planning to do._

_“That’s right.”_

_She looked to the door where pale thin arms that ended in claws kept pushing through the gap between the door and frame._

_“Aim for the head.” She moved with him, forcing him to walk to the ladder the civilians had scurried up, shoving at him so he had to start climbing. “They’re bony fuckers, but not the least fragile.” She explained as John pulled himself up much too slowly. “They can heal almost anything on their bodies.” She moved to the outside of the rungs, matching his pace without seeming effort though it had to be an awkward climb for her._

_“How do you-.”_

_“There’s no way out!”and another “Oh my God.” from the female. The door again made an echoing groan, this time it opened wide enough to allow a Muhka to poke its upper body through._

_She wished John would move faster as their angry screeches grew louder._

_“Hurry!” “Oh my God! Those things are coming in!”_

_“Come on.” She grabbed his jacket again and pushed John up the next five rungs to his surprise. It was as far as she could reach. “Without a brain they can't function even though they aren't dead.”_

_“Wh- they don’t die?” John stopped climbing, his frown turning to a scowl at her words._

_“They do once they're burned.” She reached up and lightly jumped over the rail at the top while John reached for the next rung and started hauling himself onto the catwalk. He found it easier when she grabbed the back of his jacket and pulled him the rest of the way. Again, John didn’t see how a small thing like her could manage his bigger frame let alone his weight._

_“Open the duffel.” He ordered trying to be careful of his thigh. He could feel cold sweat beading on his brow and the pain was worse. She did as he told her and those smoky eyes narrowed on him at what she saw inside._

_“_ This _is what you do?”She wondered what exactly the job title would be though there were a few possibilities she would rather it was. Hoping the man coming to their rescue wasn’t a Hunter seemed impossible a wish to be granted._

_She pulled out two shotguns-one was sawed off- along with the rounds for each, a 9mm P14.45, a Hardliner and the ammo for that as well as the extra clips and his rifle, a Savage Model Scout._

_“Do you know how-?” John trailed off as he watched her load and prep the 9mm. she slipped it into the waistband of her jeans and reached for the spare clips._

_“I'm familiar.” She tried not to think of where that knowledge had come from or why she’d had to acquire it. Instead, she handed him a shotgun and a case of shells._

_“How’s your aim?” John followed her as she approached the civilians._

_“Perfect.” She answered with barely a glance at him. She handed the case of ammunition to the guy and pulled the woman to where John was propped up against the rail._

_“We have to get ou-!”_

_“Great, they can eat you. Your choice.” She gave them a moment to look down to where the Muhka were climbing over each other to get inside._

_“Oh my God! I don’t want to die!”_

_“God isn’t helping you right now. Shut up. Sit your ass down and load.” she pushed the woman down harshly and kicked John’s duffel bag over after she grabbed the rifle. “Start doing for yourselves. The faster you re-load for us the less likely it is you're going to die tonight.”_

_“But I've- I've- I don’t-.” “I don’t know how to do this.”_

_They looked up at her, both bruised up and bloody, completely unprepared for what was happening and she needed them to do more than cry._

_“Here.” John could see she was out of patience with them. He saw her relief at not dealing with the civilians anymore as John gave them a quick lesson on loading. When he looked up again she was on the catwalk with the rifle as the Muhka clawed over the one trying to get inside and the first shot rang with an echo. They screeched and banged on the metal until it bent inward. The rifle clicked empty too quickly but John, a little to her left and behind, stood braced against the rail and fired the shotgun._

**S** ****

John emptied his clip and re-loaded in a smooth motion, all from years of experience. He was forced to back up as a sharp blade came too close to his chest though just far enough away not to do him any harm. He forced himself to ignore the scarred eye sockets, the grim visage of their silent faces and maneuvered his way to her just as she cried out in pain.

She was hurt.

John knew it and yet she didn’t stop fighting. He noticed the difference in style right away; fatigue had sucked the grace of her movements so they were efficient and nothing else. She was at the point were getting through the fight was more important than doling out pain.

“Here!” John tossed her the Beretta remembering her aim was much better than anyone he’d ever seen. She caught it, turning to put a bullet in heads as they came at her. The closest ones were cut down with a swipe from the rusted blade in her hand.

He could see more coming across the road, outlined in the setting sun so they were smudges of blood shaped figures. John had plenty of guns in his truck, he thought there might even be enough ammo to take them all on but that was suicide to even try.

“Come on.” John grabbed onto the back of her jacket and pulled her with him towards his truck. Her feet kept pace with his, the gun finally clicking empty. She pulled out of his grasp long enough to throw the dagger. The force of the impact took the robed freak off its feet and when it hit the ground still bounced from the power with which it was struck.

“In!” John barked as he pushed her up into his truck. He climbed in after her, shooting two of the closer figures doggedly coming at them. Tires squealed as he stepped on the gas and his door shut with the momentum. The truck shot forward, fishtailing as John tried to straighten out. They bounced in the cab, the tires crunching over another one that somehow got run over.

“You piss them off?” he glanced into the rearview mirror where he could make out the fading figures trying to come after them. He got a pained chuckle in answer and glanced over to his passenger. She was huddled into the door; the hand clutching at her side was bloodied.

She noticed the look he gave her and knew it was going to be a hassle she didn’t need. If he recognized her, which she was certain he already had, then he would question her again. About the freaks on her ass and that hunt… There had been times when it was worse-the wounds she had received in one fight or another- and she’d survived those. She had been surviving the past year and a half… One more time wouldn’t be so hard now that she had a few minutes and miles to catch her breath and maybe think her way out of the endless loop she was caught in.

“I’ll be fine-.”

“You're bleeding in my truck.” John growled casting another look in her direction. They both know exactly what he would see; a young woman much too young to be Hunting on her own. There was a fragile quality about her that had nothing to do with her bleeding. Her pale skin was more due to blood loss though John thought it could be as smooth as alabaster and maybe just as cool. Her eyes seemed entirely too dark in her face and inky strands of hair flitted about thanks to the air breezing through his half open window. John hadn't forgotten her from that hunt when he thought to have been rescuing her and it turned out differently. She's more than just a young woman and while he didn’t get answers from her before he certainly didn’t intend to let her get away a second time.

 **S** ****

_John sat down trying to hide the wince as pain flared in his leg as it bent and the skin pulled. It had numbed slightly during the walk to his truck. The blubbering duo huddled as far as they were able into the passenger side of the cab, their eyes wide and darting all over the place as though they expected more of the creatures to come out and grab them._

_“Move over.” She didn’t give him a choice, forcing him out of the driver’s seat still careful not to touch his leg. It wasn’t an easy fit with four people in the cab of John's truck though no one complained as it started with a rumble and she quickly drove away from the burning building. John ground his teeth together as they pulled out of the shrubs and his truck bounced over uneven ground, his face grew pale._

_“What do we tell the cops?” Neither seemed to really be looking at the road or expect an answer though they looked to him while the fire grew smaller in the distance._

_She knew there would be nothing left of the Muhka but ashes as long as the fire department didn’t arrive too soon. They were a good distance from town so the odds were good…_

_“No one’s going to believe us.” The woman hid her tear streaked face in his jacket, both civilians clinging to each other._

_John still had no better advice for them after a decade of hunting. There really wasn’t anything they could tell the police about what happened to them._

_“Say whatever you want.” It was difficult for her to feel sorry for them. They'd been the perfect victims, exactly what the Muhka liked and she’d used the male to get her in. once again, too late for the three missing people they had already taken._

_John turned to the girl driving his truck, he had questions about the way she handled herself and the situation._

_“But not the truth.” She shook her head never taking her eyes from the road. “That’ll get you a stay in the psych ward.” Her mouth twisted into a grimace of a smile, her disgust thinly veiled. “Depending on how much you insist monsters are real determines how long you stay…” her voice dropped to an almost whisper they could still hear over the rumble of the truck. “And what pills help with the delusion. So…”_

_The woman whimpered, fresh tears coating her face while the man kept opening and closing his mouth trying to speak and clearly having trouble with the words. Both felt helpless, afraid with no one to tell of their horrible experience. John wondered if the girl spoke from personal experience, it would explain some of her behavior and if she were a Hunter then…John knew of a Hunter safely tucked away in a mental institution because he simply couldn’t deal with this life anymore._

_They drove in silence the rest of the way into town where she slowed at the first gas station. John checked to see if there was any security cameras then directed her to a dark corner of the lot where she pulled over._

_“Alright. Out.” She saw the twin looks of panic and pointed a finger at the well lit station only a few yards away. “Use the phone inside. And screen your dates in the future.” She followed that by leaning across John and opening the passenger door for them._

_John bit back the pained exclamation as her slight weight rested on his injured thigh. His eyes shot daggers at her back while the pair on his right were shoved out of the truck. He closed his eyes, hearing the protests of the pair she left standing in the lot. The door slammed shut as the truck sped off. With both hands clutching at his thigh he growled directions to his motel willing himself not to pass out and the little spots in his vision to disappear._

_“Who are you?”_

_She shifted uncomfortably, her eyes quickly glancing at him before focusing on the road again. “No one.” That was all the answer he would get from her. He didn’t need to know her name; he didn’t need to know anything at all about her._

_John scoffed, his eyes focused on her intently ignoring him. He knew she wasn’t a demon and at her quick glance realized he'd spoken out loud but at least she wasn’t ignorant of their existence._

_“Hunter.” She hadn't wanted to believe it even though everything about him was screaming Hunter. She had known it when he walked into the den and again when she had opened his duffel, when he'd been hurt and still tried to keep shooting._

_She pulled into the parking lot and took the first spot that was empty._

_“Wait.” She cut the engine, barely hit the parking break before he reached for her arm and she slipped his grasp, jumping out of the truck. John shuffled towards the door even as she slammed it shut on him._

_“You can fix yourself.”_

_He grumbled under his breath scowling at the door as he shoved it open again and got out trying not to hurt himself anymore than he was. He looked around and across the lot then towards the almost empty street but there was no sign of the girl._

**S** ****

John turned back to the road, aware of her sitting very quietly to his right. Her clothes had seen better days but then, John sort of had an idea of what she had been doing. Sometimes he thought of the way he'd raised his boys; one motel after another and the Impala their only constant roof while he searched for that thing that killed his beloved Mary. Even now, he would think of her and feel guilty that it wasn’t as good as it could've been while she still lived.

John turned to the young woman at his side and found her gray eyes studying him. They were a dark shade, like charcoal though he could see flecks of silver which in his mind labeled as ‘quicksilver’. More than the shade of her eyes, it was what he saw in them that John recognized. He had seen the same expression in the green and hazel eyes of his sons, though mostly in his eldest. He had put so much on those young shoulders and even now he continued to demand and expect too much of him.

 “A little soap. Some water and you're as good as ne- well, you’re good.” She corrected looking around the interior. It was clean and well cared for but it wasn’t new, not for the **1986 GMC.**

 “Bloody and cracking jokes.” John shook his head. It brought to mind his son and some of his past injuries. The kid wouldn’t shut up and if he did then it had to be bad. “You're in pain.” It was there in the tight set of her mouth and the way she tried to keep her body as still as possible. John knew exactly where to take her.

“Well, I'm bleeding….” She couldn’t help pointing it out. She just needed to rest a little bit, let her Slayer ability do its thing and then get a move on but as long as they kept to the road and didn’t stop – but the longer she stayed with him the more he’d become a target and there had been enough death because of her. “So yeah, look, thanks for the help back there.” She bit her lip at the pain shooting up her side as she sat up. “I’ll take it from here. Just let me out-.”

“In the middle of Minnesota?” John scoffed, the truck sped up. “I'm gonna take you someplace safe. Get you patched up.”

“No hospital.” She grabbed the door handle willing to jump out of the speeding truck before allowing herself anywhere near one.

“You got something against medical attention?”

“Anytime it’s unsolicited.” She leaned into the door, smoky eyes on the Hunter who’d helped her out. “Now, pull over-.”

“No.” John ignored the death grip she had on his door. “I wasn’t going to a hospital.”

“I’d hate to hurt you just so I can get out-.” Because no one was going to make her go back there, not after all the trouble it took just to get out.

“We’re almost there.” John pointed out the sign flashing past them. _Blue Earth_ was only a few miles away. “I'm John Winchester.”

She didn't say anything, not sure about doing the whole name thing when she knew what he was.

“If you're in trouble…”

“You’ll come to my rescue?” she scoffed but then hadn't he done exactly that this time around?

“You can trust me.”

“Because you're a Hunter?” she rolled her eyes. One creepy, holy fanatic calling himself a Hunter was enough to decide she wasn’t safe with _them_. Being the Slayer meant working alone, dying young – or so she had been told… but that wasn’t the case anymore and this time around things were happening differently than she’d been told. If John knew what she was, he’d try and kill her too. The Slayer wasn’t supposed to be real…

“Because we’ve helped each other out.” John hoped it would mean something, get him a little information though if it were the other way around, John wouldn’t be saying shit. Silence settled between them as he waited and was finally broken by her soft voice just above a whisper.

“Sÿndra.” She didn’t even know why she finally gave him that much but the ground wasn’t opening up to swallow her. She figured maybe having a name would make it harder to want to kill her once he did figure out what she was but by then she would have to be very far away.

It wasn’t exactly what John was hoping for but it would be a start. He nodded and the truck slowed down enough to make the turn off the road to Pastor Jim's place. “We’re here.”

The sun was gone and the sliver of moon in the night sky barely gave any light. The truck rumbled on, sparse copes of trees along the dirt road John drove on towards the familiar house. It wasn’t far from the church and the white structure jutted from the flat ground it had been constructed on; a modest parking lot surrounded it but there was plenty of flat land for the large congregation to use.

Her eyes widened at sight of the church and for a moment, she felt her heart stop beating in her chest. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t move a muscle as fear paralyzed her. Sÿndra had a thing about hospitals with good reason. It was a phobia, very recent… just like her fear of churches.

“You lying-!” the short gasp of words rasped out of her dry mouth and finally her body jerked into motion as John pulled up to the house in a nice yard. She caught little details; like the orderly row of flowers lining the front porch and on either side of the stairs leading up to the front door. The way the grass sort of swayed in the gust of breeze she felt in her face as she got out of the truck- it was overgrown. The sound of the front door squeaking open as someone came out and she wondered if John _knew_ what she was? If this was his attempt at ‘exorcising’ the Slayer ‘demon’ out of her…

“What's wrong with you?” John's door shut loudly, the crunch of his boots on the gravel as well; it was all Sÿndra could do to keep everything from overwhelming her and the sudden amplifying of each sound hurt as much as her side and the deep cut still oozing blood past her fingers as she pressed down harder.

_‘I'm not dying here! I will Not!’_

“Get away from me!” Sÿndra almost shook her head at the stupidity of the warning. A _Hunter_!

John's hands came up, the same gesture one would use when trying to calm a skittish horse and he wondered what the hell the girl was freaking out about. She was so pale and it made sense that she would be delirious, in pain and had most likely lost a lot of blood. He was certain there would be a dark patch in the passenger side of his truck.

“Idiot!” Sÿndra screamed under her breath. She blamed herself for it, for allowing herself to get caught and backed away but John kept coming towards her. She could hear his heart speed up and his hand clamped down on her forearm much faster than she anticipated. It was a mistake, grabbing her and Sÿndra took the advantage.

Hurt, exhausted…those things meant nothing when her life was at stake and adrenaline would help get her away if she could just focus on where to run _to_.

John found himself staring up at the twinkling stars, his back tingled just a little and the breath knocked out of him from the slight wisp of a girl he thought was maybe too weak to hurt him.

_‘I'm gonna regret this.’_

Pastor Jim Murphy hurried down the last steps of his front porch, eyes wide. “What are you doing, John?” he bent to help the gruff man get to his feet, eyes resting on the young woman. He had never seen anyone knock John Winchester down that wasn’t some kind of monster and she certainly didn’t look the part. The dirt smeared cheek was too pale, the dark patch of a bruise marred her skin and there were dark circles ringing her eyes. She looked dog-tired but more than that was the fear he could clearly see in her eyes.

Sÿndra pointed a trembling finger at the men. “Back off.” Her voice came out hoarse- not at all the strong, angry tone she would have preferred.

“You’re hurt.” Pastor Jim noticed the blood on her hand, the dark patch that marred her dirty gray shirt. It had spread to the top of her ripped jeans.

“She was attacked.” John explained. He gave a slight huff of annoyance, dark eyes narrowed as he studied her. “Some robed Friars, scarred eye sockets with long daggers a few miles out of _Blue Earth._ ” He didn’t say the Friars were a first since he had started Hunting but if Jim had seen them before …?

“Stay away from me.” Sÿndra steadily moved away from them, she had only ever seen the shadow of the man in her dreams, the black clothes…the brilliant square of white at his collar… all those girls, their eyes staring sightlessly and the blood… Sÿndra didn’t want to die, at least not yet though what there was to look forward to when no one had come for her... She hadn't been able to find anyone from the Watchers Council and even Andreas was missing. She had no one, not even her old Watcher to explain what happened. Why had the Powers That Be Called _her_ when she was no longer a Potential...?

“We don’t mean you any harm.” Pastor Jim moved towards her, just a step to the three she quickly added between them.

“Did you say that to the others?” Sÿndra demanded. “Did you tell them it wouldn’t hurt when you cut out their hearts!”

If she closed her eyes their faces would be as clear as a picture. The young girls screaming out as the Bringers cut into their chests and removed their hearts. She would hear them screaming in her head, _feel_ them die … and then he’d be there. He would stand just out of sight, hidden by shadows so dark Sÿndra couldn’t be sure he was even there.

“What others?” John scowled. He and Jim shared a look, questioning if she were telling them the truth, if it was some sort of hallucination, or that maybe she was out of her mind entirely.

“The girls.” Sÿndra felt the ground come up at her; she felt it tilt under her feet while her head spun.  

 _“You know what you are?”_ his tone was gentle. A lie and yet he spoke with complete conviction. _“Dirty.”_

He had found her again.

_“You were born dirty, born without a soul.”_

She wanted to deny it but had no voice.

_“Born with that gaping maw wants to open up, suck out a man’s marrow.”_

**S** ****

Pastor Jim Murphy cleaned and dressed the wide cut. It was roughly 6inches in length starting at her waist and stopping just shy of her ribs. It certainly hadn't looked an hour old, not with the scab torn open again from when she tossed John to his back. He wondered at her reaction to him and stood from the bed where she lay sleeping fitfully. Jim turned towards the door and found John watching from the shadows.

“What did these…Friars? look like.”

John shrugged, his eyes never leaving Sÿndra. “Ugly sons o’ bitches in brown robes with hoods. A rope ‘round their waist like a belt and everyone of ‘em was blind. Their eye sockets were burned, Jim.” John gave a slight tilt of his head towards the bedroom. “They were coming at her with the same knife.”

Both men looked into the unconscious girl almost as pale as the sheets she lay on. John had carried her in; quietly surprised by the feel of her in his arms- the girl weighed nothing and he could swear he felt each one of her bones.

“Do you have it?” Pastor Jim thought maybe they could learn something from it; who the Friars where, what kind of evil wanted to kill her…

“No,” John shook his head. “There wasn’t a chance. And she gave back the one in her hand.” his smile was just a little grim remembering the impact of that throw.

“She fears me, John.” Pastor Jim didn’t like the feeling, he wasn’t used to being feared by the people he tried to help and this girl didn’t know him at all.

“You don’t look anything like those freaks.” John's low grumble really didn’t do much by way of reassuring him but a comment like that from John was rare so Pastor Jim didn’t say anything. They watched her shift in the bed, hands twitching and intelligible words they couldn’t quite hear.

“She needs to rest.” Pastor Jim led the way downstairs with John trailing behind him. He didn’t want to tell Jim about the hunt and the … the Muhka she took out simply because of the _how_ she managed it all. He still couldn’t quite get his head around the things he'd seen her do. The explanations simply brought John to a place he wasn’t usually reluctant to go…but this girl…

“It’s not like you, John.” Pastor Jim glanced up from where he was brewing a pot of tea. “To pick up young women in distress.”

John made no reply, choosing to wait until Jim placed a steaming mug in front of him and he'd tried to think his way around what he could say and what he wanted to say.

“We’ve met.” It’s the truth John can safely admit to but then he noticed the strange look on the preachers face. “On a hunt.” He snapped, glaring at his friend. He kept himself from showing any discomfort for the insinuation he would have _that_ kind of relationship with a young woman barely more than a girl. There was nothing wrong with Sÿndra aside from her youth in comparison with John's age. John rather thought the girl would be more interested in one of his boys, though Dean would be the first to sweet talk her.

“She does look young enough to be your daughter.” Pastor Jim couldn’t help just one more dig at John. He took a drink from his mug to hide the smirk playing about his lips for the insinuation.

“I would remember that.” John thought of Adam. He worried the boy wasn’t safe even with the precautions he'd taken.

“Do you know what she meant? Out there.” Pastor Jim nodded towards his front yard and the altercation. John shook his head, dark eyes staring into his mug.

“Not a damn clue.” The silence didn’t last before John looked up, a frown settling his features into a slight scowl. “I don’t know more than her name. Sÿndra.”

“Uncommon.” Pastor Jim noted. “Last name?”

“She didn’t say.” John answered in a gruff voice.

**S**


	2. Shelter Me Part II

**S**

_"Folks work so hard at keepin' the Lord out, and look what happens in return."_

She tried not to show him fear but she was alone with him in the dark.

_"He abandons you."_

Sÿndra flinched. His voice so close to her ear she couldn't hold back a gasp. Everything began to glow, a soft light slowly rising in the distance. She doesn't recognize where they are; it's a field covered in blood with an altar draped in white, eerily clean and he's standing in front of it with the sun at his back so she still can't see his face.

_"Curiosity. Woman's first sin."_

She can hear the smile in his voice and she stops trying to see his face.

 _"You're angry…afraid… You really should relax. Look at where you are."_ the grass shifts like there's a breeze and Sÿn looks to find the dead Potential's; girls broken, chests gaping wide with a hole crusted in blood and flesh, bits of them still clinging to their clothes… and then he's standing beside her.

 _"I'll see you soon, little lady."_ His breath fans her cheek, her skin tingling with gooseflesh and a shiver trailing down her spine.

Sÿndra wakes gripping at the coverlet. Her eyes dart around the room but she doesn't recognize anything and panics. Her side hurts as she sits up and there's a bandage around her stomach. She listens but can't focus and moves to the window with haste. There's a nightstand in the way and the lamp gets knocked over and she breaks the sill trying to get out of there. Sÿn hears them approach and bites back the pained yelp as she sort of climbs out.

John opens the door and curses because the noises that have drawn them upstairs are exactly what they'd thought.

"She'll open her wound again." Pastor Jim tells John who walks into the room and grabs her shirt, wrapping an arm around her waist. This time Sÿndra does yelp because his arm presses down on her wound and John gets her back inside the room.

"What the hell are you thinking?" John stands in front of the window and Sÿndra sits on the bed just breathing. She hurts too much to fight them both right then. She can figure this out, just has to stop seeing fuzzy edges.

"Are you hurt-?" Pastor Jim stops in his tracks when she jumps to her feet at his approach.

"I'll live." Sÿndra snaps and is closer to John when Pastor Jim moves further into the room. It doesn't escape John either, how the girl avoids the preacher. He's guessing she considers him the lesser of two evils.

"Pastor Jim isn't going to hurt you." John grumbles to her. "He cleaned and wrapped your wound."

Sÿndra frowns at Pastor Jim. He's standing with his hands held out, a show of innocence she's not sure of believing let alone trusting. He's got the black shirt and the patch of white at his throat-

"We want to help you."

Sÿndra stays quiet, is she going to believe them? She's just been warned by Caleb but Pastor Jim doesn't give off the same vibe, so maybe they aren't the same…? But then, she's seeing pairs and her legs feel weak- she's thinking the lack of food and sleep are wreaking havoc with her Slayer healing.

"Why are you running?" John gently places his hand on her arm- she's way bony-. "What where those … things?" he sits her on the bed again and she frowns slightly, eyes on John's boots. They're well worn, somewhere between black and brown or maybe gray. She slides her foot closer to his and the tip of her boots match his except for the dirt and mud caked in the crease.

"…His boys..." Does she remember Caleb saying that to her or was it a dead Potential, their voices whispering -?

"Who's boys?" John's tone is rough and he mentally reminds himself this isn't a hunt. Not yet.

Sÿndra looks around the room; a pale blue with sparse furniture and focuses on them. The hunter and the preacher…

"They're Bringers." She's too tired to fight them anymore and John notices the tone; acceptance of her situation and that doesn't sit well with him. Pastor Jim is right, she's so young… no need to be so tired or give up but he wonders if she really has or if she's finally allowing herself to rest for a bit.

"Uhm," and here, Pastor Jim knows he's going to sound ridiculous but: "What do they bring?"

John gives Pastor Jim the slightly frowning look which he ignores, already a little embarrassed to have voiced his question. Sÿndra utters a humorless chuckle, smoky eyes looking from Pastor Jim to John. "Death."

It's such a simple statement and yet in the silence following it both men feel a slight chill ghost over their skin. It's not natural- her reaction… Sÿndra sits between them; her seemingly calm acceptance of the fact unnerves them.

"Why you?" John finally questions because they've tried to kill her. She's quiet so long that John thinks she won't tell them. He can't understand what she's looking for, her expression completely blank as she stares from him to Pastor Jim and back.

Her voice is softer still, as though she fears the reaction they'll have. "I'm The Slayer."

**S**

_They've run as far as they can. Both guys have done everything they can and it's not enough. She knows what's coming and that scares her; death._

_"Get to the street." Levy shoves her to the fire escape. It's their only way outside. Sÿndra hesitates only because she's afraid they'll stay behind. "Go!" he grabs her arm and forcibly moves her to the window he smashes open with the butt of his rifle. They've armed themselves like the soldiers they are._

_"Please-."_

_"We're right behind you." Levy promises. He's come to her rescue more than once._

_Sÿndra slips out the window. She's careful with the glass, keeping an eye on the street and alley for more of the robed psychos. The sounds of gunfire above her head startle her, her heart pounding so loud it's getting difficult to breathe as well._

_Sÿndra can't explain it to them; the reason for this. She's not part of that world, never really was but they've come for her._

_"Hurry up!" the ladder shudders with their weight, echoing with each boot. Sÿndra reaches the last platform and slides down the released ladder. She's in the alley when the first one comes out of the darkness, materializing from shadows. The gun in her hand still feels a little strange but her aim is perfect; one, two, three… the bodies are replaced by more._

_"Move!" Valen takes them down, Levy dragging Sÿndra further into the alley when they're blocked off by five more._

_Sÿndra fights them off, too close for the rifle._

_The three stand back to back, cut off from the street…_

'There's no way out of this one.'

**S**

Pastor Jim is curious. Sÿndra can tell neither man believes her.

"That's only a story." John looks to Pastor Jim who's responsible for the fable he's heard.

"I'm sitting right here." Sÿndra quips. She lacks sarcasm; her tone just a tired, cheerless note. "You saw me with the Muhka." She tells John. "How easily I pulled you up the ladder…" because he definitely looked at her weird and John certainly had questions but she had been in his truck twice already without any signs…

"A Slayer…" Pastor Jim is curious. All he knows about Slayer's comes from an old hunter. It had sounded like a fairy-tale, an urban legend of sorts with no proof of its veracity.

"The." Sÿndra watches him, wondering why his curiosity isn't more worrisome. He doesn't seem to want her dead, at least not yet.

John has that 'huh?' look.

"There's only one Slayer at a time." Sÿndra says.

"Yes," Pastor Jim agrees. "That part is…true-."

"You're gonna buy this load of bull?" John is glaring at them both.

"You said her wound was fresh but it looked at least a day old." Pastor Jim points out. "She had no trouble tossing you over her shoulder and the hunt-."

John scowls, disliking any mention of that fact. "You said the Slayer was born of a demon."

At that, Sÿndra's posture changes. No longer calmly able to sit in place, she's poised for an attack if that's where they take it. She's not going to let two Hunters kill her when she's avoided the Bringers this long.

"From what I learned…" Pastor Jim's eyes shift towards Sÿndra where she sits- Slayer lore, if she truly is the Slayer, would be her forte. "Do you know…?"

"About the first Slayer?" the smoky eyes shift towards John, assessing him. "They took a young girl…" her voice is soft, almost hesitant to tell them. "…forced the demon…into her." She's uncomfortable and they notice. That first girl…raped by demons because those old men couldn't bother to find another way. "They wanted a protector. Someone to fight evil. They got her. The first." She sighs, her eyes straying to Pastor Jim. "And she was killed." He's not the threat she first thought and her eyes rest on John. "The same as all of us. All the ones before me… and the ones who'll come after I die."

"There's a demon in you?" John automatically shifts his stance, questioning how it's possible they didn't notice.

"NO. John, she's not possessed." Pastor Jim is quick to assure him of that lest there's another fight. "It's not that kind of...power." he lacks sufficient knowledge of Slayer lore to begin explaining this to John so he'll understand. He gets it now, why Sÿndra didn't want him near her.

"She just said-."

"You can try your exorcism." Sÿndra offers, her tone just a tad harsh. "Douse me with holy water or whatever." It wouldn't be the first time either. She stands up, looking at them both. "I am not going to die here." Her eyes shift to John who still hasn't relaxed his stance. "You won't get the chance."

John doesn't miss the fire in her eyes, that spark of quick-silver in the smoky depths or the challenge in her tone. She's willing to fight again and he wonders if maybe she was faking her injuries just a little more.

"You're safe here… Sÿndra, is it?" Pastor Jim waits but she doesn't answer him.

"I have to go." Sÿndra moves towards the door, one step before John is blocking the way. "Now."

"You're still hurt." Pastor Jim cautions moving around John so they're both blocking her way out. "It's dark-."

"If I stay you will die." Sÿndra figures it's enough to get them to back off. Who would put themselves in danger for a stranger? "The Bringers will find me. They always do. _You_ aren't safe."

"You know what we are." John hasn't lost his scowl. He's stuck on the fact there's a demon in the girl yet Jim is telling him she isn't possessed and she's proven that. "Hunters. … That's why you ran off so quick." Her lack of answer is more than enough and John knows he's right.

"You saw how many came after me." She doesn't need help. She tells herself that all the time because she can't afford to get another person killed trying to help her. Hunters or not… "There will be more. You don't have enough bullets for them all…thanks anyway."

John wonders if anyone has ever helped her. She looks sad … and grateful at the same time. "You won't get far on foot." He moves aside, motioning her to go through.

Jim catches on and moves ahead of them. "You should both eat."

The invitation catches her off guard. She's not sure what to make of it; they head down the hallway and down the stairs where Sÿndra follows them into the kitchen while her eyes stray to the door and her exit.

She's uncomfortably quiet but hungry so she waits as Pastor Jim sets a small plate in front of her and moves off to pack some food for them.

"We'll head to Bobby's."John ignores the 'look'. Jim is well aware of Bobby's threat of buckshot but he'll stay out of it. He catches Sÿndra eating and feels pleased by the small act.

"I'll fill him in." Jim assures. "Between us, we'll find something." And he'll figure out a truce between the two hunters before Bobby does fill John with buckshot.

Sÿndra looks between them trying hard not to get her hopes up, that this nightmare she's been living could be over… "You really don't have to help me." They look at her. "You don't know anything about me." She isn't willing to share anything about herself with them. Not her past or her name- that's enough they'll figure it out… would they blame her too?

"I'm between hunts." John grouses. He takes the food and starts for the door.

"He's all bark." Pastor Jim smiles, trying to sound reassuring in the face of John's grumpy mood.

"No." Sÿndra takes the last bite on her plate before she follows John's retreating back. "He's not."

Pastor Jim walks them through the living room to the door. He watches them leave, neither speaking and wonders if Sÿndra can naturally read people or if that's a Slayer thing. There's a lot he should remember but there were few conversations with the old hunter Jim now thinks maybe had more to do with the Slayer than he'd let on. Pastor Jim closes the door checking his wards and heads back to his kitchen to clean up. He hopes that accepting his food means she doesn't think he's going to kill her anymore… All she needs is rest.

**S**

_The house is too quiet. Her Father's loud snores usually vibrate through the walls… she doesn't hear it._

_The floor board in the hallway creaks and the shadow at the door sends a chill down her spine. It's a childish reaction-grabbing the covers and huddling under them with just her eyes peeking out._

'Stupid scary movies. That's the last time I watch any of them.'

_Which is ridiculous considering the last ten years of her life has been spent learning about every scary thing in the world._

_The door opens and that dark shadow slinks its way into the bedroom she's sharing with her sisters and cousin. An un-expected family reunion…_

_The knife glints with the moonlight coming through the crack in the curtain. She's frozen, disbelief at what she knows is going to happen but can't believe_ is _happening._

_"No!"_

_She sits up-._

**S**

John tries an exorcism- he's no fool. But she's fine. She gives no sign the words bother her so John checks his wards, the talismans in his truck, to make sure they're intact and they are. He scowls, thinks about what little he remembers of the fable Jim told him a few years back. It isn't much.

He drives through the night, the sun burning through the gray dawn when Sÿndra stirs again. Her fitful sleep has been disturbed at intervals; mumbling in her sleep, unintelligible words. She wakes ready to fight; her left hand blocking and her right in a fist.

"Another one?"

She's embarrassed.

"Same difference." Sÿndra wipes her face tiredly. "Everyone is dead." She shrugs, eyes focused on the graying morning. She tires to put it out of her mind but it isn't easy. She tried to fit in, to be the girl her Mother expected but Sÿndra couldn't ignore the darkness around them. She'd saved that girl from being a vampires dinner and all it got her was a stay in a sanitarium…

"You were afraid of Jim." John glances at her. "Did you recognize him?"

Sÿndra shakes her head. "Not…him, no. It's …" she drags in a breath, her eyes on the road and a frown marring her features. "I can't…see his face…he's always in my dreams… he sent them, the Bringers. He- he says…says we're born dirty-without a soul… says he's going to purify us." Her eyes burn but she's not going to shed any tears. She's alive and that means she can still fight.

"Purify you for what? Why?" John feels it; he's uncomfortable with the soft, husky tone of her voice. Just the _feel_ of her words…he can't explain it.

"Don't know." Sÿndra keeps her eyes on the road. "He's killed a lot of Potential's. I … I think he's trying to wipe out the line." It's not a certainty, not like there's anyone to ask because there's no one left. No answer, no replies, no contact at all.

But that feels right.

_'Maybe I'm the last…'_

"Line?"

His question brings her back and she sits up. Her side twinges, a barely there sting from the healing wound.

"Potential's. Girls who could be Called … to be the Slayer when I die."

And there's that damn, calm acceptance of death. It bothers John; that she's too young for this … So were his boys. So is Dean and yet John raised them into this life of blood and death.

What's the difference?

 _Is_ there one?

She looks at him and her voice is soft when she speaks. "I don't-. You can drop me here. I'll be fine on my own." Because Sÿndra doesn't want them to get hurt and yet she feels hopeful again- she wants to let them handle her problem… she doesn't want to be alone anymore but she's afraid they'll die, like Levy and Valen … for her- _because_ of her.

"I should." John grumbles with his eyes on the road. He's been thinking about her, what he's seen and what he _knows_. What he _feels_ is different because his only concern has been finding the thing that killed his wife, protecting Sam from this demon… His boy has always had Dean looking out for him, taking care of him. John isn't blind; he knows Dean has had a bigger effect on _who_ Sam has grown into. John always left it to Dean, put the responsibility on his young shoulders and anytime something went wrong … but it was John who should've been there. It was John who should've been present each time they came for Sam… But Dean took those 'close calls' as his own failure to protect his little brother.

John was responsible for that.

….Who was there for Sÿndra? This girl- she could be the same age as Sam, younger maybe and she calmly spoke of death. She ran from it, fought against dying, raging against the dark – she's alone.

"But we're going to Bobby's." John wants to look at her, try and get a glimpse of what she's thinking. He keeps his eyes on the road. "We're gonna find something…" he just doesn't know how long that's going to take them. Or if Sÿndra will stick around long enough to find out.

**S**


	3. Ink In The Meat

**_ Ink in the Meat _ **

**S**

The sign over the drive is rusted. **Singer Salvage**. The dirt path leading up to the house isn't that long and the pebbles on it crunch beneath the trucks tires. The house looks beat down and worn, the paint is chipped and while the entire thing looks as though it's got a few years before it falls over … Sÿndra likes it.

John pulls up to the side motioning for Sÿndra to get out though he's slow to follow. She stands on the dying grass studying the porch and the shutters over the windows when the screen door squeaks open and the older hunter steps out. A shotgun loosely held in his right hand. Sÿndra stiffens, her eyes picking out the small details on his person; hidden pockets where more weapons can be concealed.

"Bobby." John's gruff voice floats past her left, the sound of his boots on the loose gravel coming around the truck.

"John." Bobby grunts in response.

They stand, staring at each other for a long silent moment while Sÿndra is waiting, tense.

"You gonna use that?" John nods to the shot gun Bobby hasn't put down.

"Thought about it." Bobby's eyes skip over to the girl standing next to John. He's assuming she's the one Jim said needs help. He takes his time looking her over; black hair gently ruffled in the breeze reaching past her waist. Eyes a dark gray they look black with sparks of quick-silver, framed by long sooty lashes. There's a faded bruise on her cheek and another at her temple. The rosy pout sports a cut and overall it seems her clothes have seen better days. The jacket is faded- maybe blue at one time- and looks too thin to provide her any warmth. The large hole at the knee of her jeans is one of many and there's a dark patch at her waist where Bobby assumes is the wound Jim warned him of.

"Come inside." He jerks his head towards the house and moves aside to let them in first.

John nudges her forward when she hesitates and Bobby never takes his eyes from her. She doesn't have any trouble with the first trap painted under the porch just in front of the screen door.

John doesn't say anything either but he shares a look with Bobby before stepping inside.

**S**

The living room area is dark. The red patterned paper on the walls makes it seem darker even with the unobstructed window. The only table in the room is an old beat up desk littered with open books and papers. There's a lone couch– some ancient faux French design– that seems to fit in with the entire look of the room.

Bobby walks past them both, the sound of water coming from the kitchen and then he's back with two glasses of water in hand.

Sÿndra watches as John takes a glass and drinks it in one go. Her eyes land on Bobby and the scowl on his face, impatiently holding the second glass of water to her. She takes it, spares John another glance then drinks. All of it, just like John.

"So, we jumping through any other hoops?" John sets his glass on the desk and waits for Bobby's next move.

The grumpy scowl doesn't leave his face and his only reply is a sour grunt as he walks around them to his desk and the scattered sheets.

"I've been looking for talismans, charms, spells…" Bobby sits and starts gathering his research. "Anything to keep this girl from being found." He nods his cap towards Sÿndra who carefully takes the book Bobby turns to face her.

It's filled with lore.

Her fingers run over the yellowed pages, a memory of the life she'd thought to lead one day and now is a reality. It's nothing like she had imagined it would be. There's no Watcher to guide her, no one to turn to for answers, no one to help with the burden of what she is.

She studies him, Bobby and tunes out the conversation between the hunters. Her eyes skip over the bristly whiskers and the wrinkles to the salt and pepper hair under the old truckers cap. He dresses very much like a 'red neck', the plaid shirt and the warm vest, his well-worn jeans and heavy boots… There's something about him that feels … safe. Something about him, as he's arguing with John about witches and their advantages, that reminds Sÿn of her grandfather. Not the man, no, but the feel of the old man she vaguely remembers. A comforting warmth and maybe a few more hours in their company won't be so bad….

**S**

She's has a few hours of sleep, on and off the last day. It feels strange to be in a home once again, no matter that this one is run down, cluttered with … strange paraphernalia that is familiar to Sÿndra. Books on demon lore, demonology encyclopedias, some are variations on what she read as a Potential…

"You gonna stand there all morning?" Bobby shuffles into the kitchen, his eyes skipping over the new house guests standing in the back door staring into the yard. She's got a clean set of ratty jeans and long sleeved shirt to match in some shade of gray he's sure used to be black or maybe blue. He grabs a mug from his cupboard and fills it with the black liquid fresh from the pot. The first taste is strong and just a little bitter. _'How I like it.'_ "Huh."

"Did you need help…?" Sÿndra turns to find the soft scowl on the old hunter and wonders if she's displeased him in some way. The thought is confusing because again, she's found herself caring what Bobby thinks of her. _'He's not my Watcher.'_

"Never met a Slayer." Bobby grunts, leans a hip on the counter and waits. He's expecting a story, some king of explanation and Sÿndra feels the desire to unload the events of her life since being Called.

"Not much to tell." Sÿndra walks towards the sink, her eyes avoiding his. "You've got Pastor Jim's information."

"Why don't you explain it to me." Bobby gives the order in a softer tone, his gaze following the stiff set of her shoulders and the forced way she keeps her eyes from him.

John stays out of sight.

He waits at the top of the staircase and listens to the warm notes of her voice, the rise and fall of emotion in her words as she talks to Bobby.

As he'd thought, Sÿndra is older in life experience than a girl her age should ever have to be.

Alone.

Raised by a stranger that held no concern for her emotional well-being. Focused solely on what Sÿndra had the possibility of becoming. She's been a pawn- a soldier and John knows that life well enough to see the damage she's suffered. There's a weariness in Sÿndra that reminds John of his boys. A life he forced on them when they didn't know any better and now … He's saddened by the distance with Sam. He feels guilty for Dean and proud of his eldest for his sense of loyalty and responsibility to their dysfunctional little family.

_'I've done a sight better than my old man.'_ His scowl deepens and his feelings are difficult to squash even at his age. To know that you weren't important, that your Father could walk out on your life so easily, without a word in the years since, no trace … Henry Winchester vanished.

Sÿndra paused at the bottom of the stairs, dark eyes sparking in the dim light of the hall. "Breakfast."

John should've known better.

Slayer hearing….

**S**

Late afternoon and Sÿndra is pacing through the first floor of Bobby's house. One big circle; living room to kitchen, through the hall to the front door and back to the start.

"Will you sit down?" Bobby grumbles from his desk and the notes he's jotting down.

John shifts from his seat on the couch and the legal pad on his thigh totters. The stack of books shifts with him and his glance passes over Sÿndra just once, making up his mind.

"Come on." He shifts everything aside and slowly gets to his feet. "We need a break." He heads towards the back door, Sÿndra following after him with hesitation and a glance towards Bobby who just shakes his head and focuses on the book in front of him.

Outside the sky is painted in a burnt orange hue as the sun makes it way down. John's boots clomp down the steps and crunch on the gravel drive as he heads towards his truck.

"Is it safe?" Sÿndra hesitates to step down from the porch, her eyes boring into the long shadows on the property while her feet shift on the boards. "I don't want to draw them here."

"10 minutes won't kill us." John opens the back of his truck and grabs the weapon duffel, lugging it over his shoulder and heading towards the girl still on the back porch. "Here." He lobs the heavy weight at her, moving past and leading her to the chairs set in the corner.

Sÿndra has a slight frown on her face, not that she couldn't handle the weight of the weapons in the bag but did he have to toss the thing at her? She drops it at his feet, arms crossed over her chest, eyeing the hunter comfortably reclining in the chair.

"Well?" John eyes her and the bag expectantly. "Open it and set them all out."

"Because…" Sÿndra makes no move to do as he's ordered.

"You can't clean them in the bag." John replies. He's not going to ask and that's exactly what she's waiting for. It makes him want to smile- the sass and fire the girl hardly demonstrates that has John thinking maybe she's half out of this world already- giving up the fight to survive when maybe Sÿndra doesn't have anything to look forward to but the fight.  
Sÿndra's eyes narrow, her expression registers a hint of annoyance before she kneels and yanks the bag open to do as he's 'ordered'.

**S**

Bobby jerks up in bed. He scrambles out of the covers and hurries out into the hall with his sawed off in hand. John is already there, a colt in his hands, rushing into the bedroom. The scream is cut short and Bobby takes a position by the door.

"Where?" John barks the order, his eyes scanning the moonlit room and the girl hastily scrambling up from the bed stammering apologies.

"What happened?" Bobby scowls, lowering his own weapon as John stands at the foot of the bed staring at Sÿndra.

"Nothing." She lowers her eyes. "It was nothing. I'm sorry to wake you. It won't happen again. I'm really sorry-."

"Quit apologizing." Bobby grumbles. It's the middle of the night. He's been woken from a nice sleep by a screaming girl so he knows this was not 'nothing'.

"Come on." John nods his head towards the door and Bobby frowns but moves aside and waits in the hall.

Sÿndra's eyes shift from one man to the other. They're going to ask why she was screaming. They always ask. She sighs, both hands running through her hair to grip at her temples.

_'I shouldn't have gone to sleep.'_ But it's too late to go back and make a different choice. She'd just been too tired to stay awake. The bed had looked so inviting, soft and warm and so very normal.

Her feet start her towards the door and past Bobby to the stairs.

John gives a slight shake of his head before Bobby can moves after them. His frown turns to a scowl but he leaves them alone.

Downstairs, Sÿndra paces the length of the kitchen as John sets his gun on the counter and pulls the boiling water from the stove. He moves about, grabs the mugs from a cabinet then searches around until he finds the little tin hidden away.

"Sit." He motions to the chair, the tin set on the scarred top while he grabs the mugs and prepares their tea.

"I'm not amused by your choice of commands." Sÿndra warns, her tone decidedly more energetic than it had been moments ago- different energetic.

John's lips quirk, the hint of a smile he doesn't allow. "Here." He sits, pushing the mug towards her and waits quietly.

Sÿndra's eyes drop to the steam curling out of the hot liquid. It's an amber color, the tea dregs still swirling around. She knows what he wants, the reason for her screams and the words are locked in her throat with the memories she'd love to burn out of her head for ever.

"When I was a kid…" John clears his throat at the memory. His eyes lock on the mug between his hands refusing to look anywhere but at the steaming liquid. "I used to fall asleep to music. Kept me from nightmares- most every night, anyway."

"… music…" Sÿndra peeks at him from beneath her lashes. There's a story in the words he's using to mask the feelings.

"Yeah," John's lips shift, a sort of smile and nods. He whistles a bit of the tune and the smile he's denying ends on a melancholy note.

"Music…" Sÿndra breathes, her eyes shimmering quicksilver. "That's what their screams are."

**S**

Bobby hangs up the phone. He's got a name to work with now, something to help the girl- Slayer.

"Got a lead." He calls out and Sÿndra is quick to appear at his side, silent as a ghost and it's unnerving. "Gonna hang a bell on you." He threatens.

"I'm not much for adornments." Sÿndra quips straight-faced. Inwardly she's anxious to hear if there is something that will get her off the Preacher's radar and throw his boys off her scent. Right now, this is when she realizes how much she's been hoping for good news.

"Got some sass." Bobby notes hiding his own smile. "Good."

"That depends who's on the receiving end." John drawls from the hallway as the front door closes. He appears in the living room, a box under his arm.

"Ha, ha." Sÿndra points at the sliver of paper in Bobby's hand, smoky eyes resting on John. "You can amuse yourself at my expense if he tells me how to get lost."

Bobby's slow grin accompanies John's chuckle.

Sÿndra looks from one man to the other, the words repeating and she understands what they find so amusing.

"Darlin' -."

"That's not how I meant it." Sÿndra frowns.

"Larry Tadum." Bobby sets the paper with the information on the desk. "I'm told he knows a thing or two about spells. Might be one of yours." He nods his head towards Sÿndra, eyes full of questions but she doesn't know. All she can hope for is that maybe a few Watchers survived…

**S**

The drive is peppered with silence. They exchange the occasional pleasantry, not a comment of their conversation in Bobby's kitchen about her nightmares. There's no need to bring them up again and John seems to understand, he gets why those memories still have their grip on her.

Sÿndra isn't ready to let go, to forgive herself, the things- people, she's lost… those weren't her fault. It's never their fault because they can't save everyone.

That doesn't mean it affects them any less.

"You didn't have to drive me." Sÿndra shifts in her seat, the wind blowing inky strands into her face. "I…"

"If you're going to apologize…" John sighs.

"I wasn't." Sÿndra offers a small smile. "Just…not used to getting help." She shrugs, peeking at him from under her lashes. It's strange to find herself shy in their company but then, there hasn't been anyone to socialize with. Running is a lonely endeavor and Sÿndra has no other option.

John shrugs, that easy smile playing about his mouth. "It's on my way." He wonders what it would have been like; the little girl he and Mary had dreamed of… Would she have sunlight in her hair like Mary? Would her eyes have been full of mischief… Would he have chosen a different path for his boys if they'd had a little sister to consider?

**S**

Sÿndra squares her shoulders and heads up the front steps. They creak under her boots and she wonders if there's any need to knock. The bell chimes twice before an older woman with reddish brown hair- obviously died- opens the door, a pleasant smile on her weathered face. Her eyes curiously skip from John to Sÿndra.

"Can I help you?"

"We'd like to speak with Mr. Larry Tadum." John offers a warm smile in return; completely harmless is the vibe he's going for though it doesn't match his outside.

"Larry?" she turns half into the house glancing towards the other room before nodding. "Come in."

Sÿndra winces at the invitation. How many times had she been instructed not to utter those words? And people did it all the time, day or night…

John places his hand on her back and gently pushes until Sÿndra walks in. She spares him a glance, her features in a soft frown.

"Larry?"

They follow after her towards the living room. "Larry, you have guests." She smiles at them and nods pointing them to the seats. "Would you like something to drink? Coffee, tea…?"

"Water, please." Sÿndra sits, her eyes skipping over the older man, clearly blind though it seems he's looking right at them.

"Coffee, thank you." John smiles and takes a seat on the couch across from Larry. She pats his shoulder and leaves the room.

"Do I know you?"

"No." John answers. "We heard you might be of some help to us."

"Heard from whom?" Larry frowns. "And who are you?"

"Mr. Tadum," Sÿndra sits forward, her tone polite. "I'm Sÿndra Whade. I'm…" she hesitates to un-mask herself; tell him who she is and what she's looking for but the possibility of there being others out there, Watchers…

"She's heard you can help with a spell." John chimes in at her silence. He studies the old man, the slight shift in expression at mention of magic.

"Spell? What kind of-."

"Please." Sÿndra reaches to his hand and stops before touching him. "Please, I just- I'm not here to cause you any trouble… Have you-. Have you ever heard of the Watchers Council?" she holds her breath waiting because the answer is either going to reunite her with the only family she has left or …

Larry expels a soft breath, his eyes drifting off, brow furrowed in thought. "Who are you?" he asks again though softer than before.

"I'm The Slayer." Sÿndra replies in the same quiet tone.

"The Slayer…" Larry's smile is slow to grace his lips. "The Slayer. Ha!" he chuckles, head shaking as though he can't believe what he's hearing.

John scowls. "Can you help her?"

"Of course I can." Larry waves him off, his attention on the girl sitting across from him. He extends his hand to her and waits until he can feel her fingers on his. He grabs the small hand in his, squeezing hard as the words expel beneath his breath.

Their faces swim up out the mist and fog, people n places- sights he's long forgotten the colors to describe them so vividly. He feels her pain, her sorrow, her fear… the years spent thinking she meant nothing to them, abandoned to some vague destiny that might not b hers at all.

Sÿndra register slight discomfort on her features, her eyes never leave the old man though they brighten unnaturally. The glow- her gray eyes lighten and spark with quicksilver, her features pulling tight and her breath hitches in her chest.

John lunges out of his seat, reaching for the old man and gets blown back into the couch by an invisible force. It keeps him there no matter how hard he struggles to get up until the muffled air lifts and regular sounds invade once more.

Larry drops her hand. "You really are her." Larry doesn't smile anymore. "And you're in the frying pan, young lady…"

The force keeping John away from them is gone and he shoots to his feet, angry. "What the hell is this?" he growls.

Sÿndra draws in a heavy sigh; her hands touching on her temples as her eyes slowly dim to their natural dark grey. "You saw it." She blinks at Larry. "You saw… all of it?" she can't help feeling shamed; he's seen her at her most vulnerable, at her worst…

Larry nods sadly, his features presenting the full weight of his years. "I did." He starts to get up when refreshments are brought in. "Never mind those, Linda."

"Are they- where are you going?" his wife sets the tray on a side table and starts towards him brushing John aside. "Here."

Larry waves her hand aside. "Off with you woman. I'm busy." He motions to Sÿndra, his hand once again extended towards her. "Well?"

Sÿndra's eyes skip from John to Linda who offers a shrug and stands aside to let her pass. Her expression is curious but she'll wait until the strangers leave before asking her husband, knowing he might not say a word at all but that's just Larry. She sighs.

"Where are you going?" John demands. He stops her hand from taking Larry's, glaring at the old man.

"To help." Larry answers as though it should be obvious.

**S**

Sÿndra sits on the stool, her eyes skipping around the laundry room of all places to do 'magic' things. The sunlight pouring in from the paned window warmed her back. The array of bottles laid out in a line gleamed with the promise of a respite from the Bringers on her ass.

"Were you a Watcher?"

Larry snorts a short laugh. He doesn't stop mixing powders, the slow methodical swish of the wand scraping along the bottom of the clay dish. "No, I was never a Watcher." He shakes his head. "I knew a few… but, it's been a long time since I've come across one. I don't think they'd be happy to see me."

"Why not?" Sÿndra shifts slightly on the stool, her eyes following the bottle of pale lavender liquid he picks up.

"Well… I chose a different path." Larry tips the bottle, head cocked as it pours into the mix of powders. "They don't appreciate when a legacy declines to join their ranks."

"Oh." Sÿndra never imagined hearing anything like this. A legacy who didn't join the Council… had anyone ever said 'No' to them before?

"Yes," Larry smiles, the bottle set down again. "My grandfather had a little more to say than that."

The soft glow from the bowl drew her attention. He seemed to know what was happening even before Sÿndra had the chance to say so. He lifted the thin wand out of the bowl his eyes finding hers.

"What color is it?"

"Black. I mean, its shimmering- sparks of color, kinda pretty." Sÿndra smiles. "Like fireflies if they had a rainbow." Sÿndra shrugs her shoulder, a blush staining her cheeks from embarrassment at her choice of words. Could she make herself sound anymore ridiculous?

"Good." Larry sets aside the wand and takes up a brush from the jar on the counter. "Remove your clothes, please."

"Huh?" Sÿndra gapes at him, the pleasant smile on his face, the brush and bowl in his hands.

"Is it you or your clothes that need the protection?"

"…Me." Sÿndra replies. She hesitantly slips off the stool but doesn't do more than shed her jacket. "Are you…you're going to draw …?"

"Of course."

"But… well, you can't see…"

"And yet you are still clothed." Larry points out.

"Yes, I'm- its…alright." Sÿndra expels her breath and pluck the threadbare shirt from her body. The jingle of her belt seems overly loud and her face feels too hot. Embarrassed doesn't begin to describe what she feels. "Okay, how do…?"

"You're hair; I'm assuming it's long. Please, put it up or out of the way."

She does as he asks, feeling more uncomfortable by the second standing in front of him in her underwear.

"Now, try not to move. I am blind." Larry teases.

"So, wait." Sÿndra steps back, out of reach from the brush and the shimmering ink. "How do you know what you're doing?"

"Practice, my dear girl." Larry says as though it should be obvious. "I've had years of practice before my sight was taken." He motions with the brush again and Sÿndra takes his hand, the tip feels cool against her skin where it rests on her collar.

He chants under his breath, so the words are hidden. His hand guides the brush in lines and curves over her torso covering her in shimmering ink. He dips into the pot repeatedly; Sÿndra does her best to ignore the ticklish sensation on her stomach when he covers that too. Her eyes follow the brush, watching the lines takes shape on her skin. He moves lower, to her thighs and the rest of her legs motioning her to turn without breaking his chant. He stands with some trouble, then uses the end of the brush to lift her arms out and covers them with more lines. Her back is the last canvas and once it's done Larry takes a step back. His voice is just a little louder and the ink on her body glows. The light draws her eyes to the symbols on her skin. They glow brighter- a shade between red and copper and the heat builds slowly.

Sÿndra has to pull in a breath, struggles to take a second until her chest feels so constricted there's nothing in her lungs. She drops to her knees clutching at her throat, forehead pressed into the boards. Flashes of light spark all over her skin along the lines and she's become the firefly.

Larry breathes a sigh; the excess warmth in the room slowly seeps away.

"They're gone." Sÿndra pushes off the floor, her arms a little unsteady and her breaths coming in long pants she tries to regulate. "The ink…" she touches her fingers to the smooth skin, the ink is gone, no trace of it left on her body.

"Oh, good." Larry nods. "It worked."

Sÿndra looks up at him. Hadn't he been sure it would?

**S**

John follows Sÿndra out of the house, he hasn't stopped scowling and she hasn't said anything about what happened in the other room.

"So…" Sÿndra stops on the sidewalk, she kicks at the ground, her toe scuffing against the cement. "I'm all good, now."

"Are you?" John eyes her intently.

"Yeah, he did…" Sÿndra shrugs again. "Mr. Tadum hid me from them."

"How do you know? You're sure it worked?" John demands.

"Yeah, I'm positive." Sÿndra nods, her eyes slide towards the house again and she feels a sense of relief accompanied by guilt.

'How many died for me?'

John rests his hand on her shoulder. She startles though covers it quickly, her eyes meet his and the difference is there. That weary, lackluster expression in her eyes… there's something else there, a lightness to her- as though the constant vigilance weren't a 24/7 necessity anymore.

She has a respite.

"Let's go." John leads her back to the truck.

**S**

 


	4. Abysmal Gaze

**_ Abysmal Gaze _ **

**S**

_“What do we do now?” Levy hissed under his breath. He was in more trouble than they'd anticipated- more than he'd thought to bring down on their heads._

_“We lay low.” Valen shoved extra mags and ammunition in the duffel. “Go find these people she was talking about. They have to know what to do.”_

_“Dude,” Levy glared, yanking the weapons from Valen’s reach. “You forget there's_ no _Council. Some terrorists blew it up!” he’d used contacts and called in favors to try and find one of them- any of them- to help them clear Sÿndra…_

_“You guys have to go.” Sÿndra came in silently, startling them both. She shook her head when they started to protests, moved out of Valen's reach, avoiding the hurt gaze he leveled on her. “It’s not safe. You guys know -.”_

_“We aren't leaving you to the wolves, Sÿn.” Levy snapped. He tossed the empty weapons at Valen and stepped around the table. “Or vampires.”_

_“Or any monsters.” Valen added._

_Sÿndra just shook her head at them again. “You guys aren't taking this seriously. I've…” but she didn’t want to tell them about the dreams._

_Andreas had explained it, that sometimes the Slayer was gifted with prophetic dreams… But these were different-nightmares and Sÿndra didn’t see how it could be anything relating to being Called._

‘I can't. I'm not even a Potential anymore. I'm too old to be Called.’

_That’s what they had said before Andreas shipped her to a home that was as far from warm or familiar._

_“Sÿndra,” Valen took her hands in his, gray eyes searching her face. “We’ll find one of them. I promise.”_

_She nodded knowing the likelihood of them finding any Watcher was practically non-existent. He pressed a light kiss to her lips ignoring the glare leveled on them by Levy._

_“Hey,” he called. “Let’s get moving.”_

**S**

John reached across the cab of his truck and gently rested his hand on her arm. Sÿndra had spent the last hour tortured in her sleep. She had told him a little more- of what it was that kept her awake. Add the bits he’d overheard her telling Bobby… the picture was starting to take shape and more than ever, John felt a sort of protectiveness towards the girl who still refused to trust.

Her instinctual response was to jerk awake ready to fight. That hadn't changed in the past four days and the small fist almost connected with his chin.

“Sorry.” Sÿndra gasped pulling back until she was huddled in the corner of the door. Her dark eyes widened slightly before her gaze lowered to her lap. Change. It would be gradual and eventually that knee jerk reaction wouldn’t be her first instinct though in her situation … well, that wouldn’t be safe for _her_.

“It’s alright.” John assured. “So long as you don’t hit me.” He offered a slight smile as he moved to get out of the truck. Teasing her sometimes got a smile- at least it banished whatever those dreams haunted her with. He didn’t look forward to a broken jaw which was exactly the outcome he could expect if she ever did hit him. John didn’t think too much about his reasons for trying to help her or lighten her mood when he saw her like that. Too much thinking wasn’t good for anyone but especially for him. Thoughts of Sam would only put John in a bad mood and it was Sam who Sÿndra reminded him of.

She slid out of the passenger side, the tense set of her shoulders and the wary glance she cast about the parking lot of their ratty motel was a habit difficult to break. John had told her not to become complacent just because Tadum had done his hocus pocus and hidden her from the robed psychos…

 _‘Bringers…’_ and explaining it to John…

“Hey,” John called rounding his truck with two duffels. “Make yourself useful.”

Sÿndra caught the heavier duffel he tossed at her. The weight wasn’t difficult to manage but she was getting rather tired of always being used as a mule whenever the mood struck him.

John walked past her, the smile trying to light his face firmly held in check. At least he'd gotten rid of that haunted expression in her eyes.

**S**

_It walked around her._

_“You're not real.” Sÿndra whispered hoarsely though her eyes followed its every move._

_It smiled._

_The familiar features were a mask intended to hurt her and it was working._

_“Real?” it spoke with his voice, the same low tone she’d become familiar with. “What's real? You?” it paced around her again, its eyes roaming over her bedraggled state. “You’ll die just like the rest of your kind.” It smiled. “And I? well… I’ll still be here. I never die.”_

_“You're not him…” a tear left a shimmering trail down her cheek. It cut a path through the grime and blood on her face. “You're not him!”_

_“I am all of them.” it stopped, faced her. “I'm the First.”_

**S**

Faith strode through the house; voices filled every room with newly activated Slayer's- Actives. The title fit and so they'd all taken to using it for the girls. There were still so many of them out there and no one to explain what was happening to them… Faith wanted to be out there. She wanted to help bring them home…

 _‘Home.’_ The word didn’t feel so foreign to Faith now, not with everything that had happened and the things they'd done.

Still, Faith would rather trade places with any of the Scoobies if it meant being away from all the pre-teen to adolescent teenage super strong girls inhabiting every square inch of the Cleveland HellMouth House. They were bursting at the seams-

“Great.” Wood sighed in relief and lightly took hold of Faith’s arm. “We just got another ‘shipment’.”

“Yay,” Faith lacked proper enthusiasm for the new girls just arriving. “We so need the extra bodies.” Her eyes pinned the hand still on her arm. Annoyance rushed through her but she stifled the initial reaction to jerk her arm out of his grasp. She didn’t see how sleeping with a man translated to … _this_.

 _‘So not working for me.’_ Faith grimaced as they entered the living room.

Andrew and Dawn were arguing loudly. Yet again. The argument? Dawn had jokingly suggested an App be created to locate the new Actives during one of those unproductive research nights. Andrew had wanted to name it and Dawn was protesting since it was her brain fart in the first place.

“Yo!” Faith pulled away from Wood, stuck her finger in her mouth an emitted a sharp whistle that drew all eyes to her. “That’s better.” She huffed. _‘I’d trade places with Xander! Africa has to be better than this…’_

Andrew raised his hand, bouncing on his toes as he waited for Faith to acknowledge him. ‘ _Tough.’_

“Yeas, Andrew?” Wood answered on a tired sigh.

Faith’s features pulled into a scowl. _‘Seriously?’_

“Are we going to Scotland soon?” Andrew questioned, his tone just shy of a whine. “Because there's not enough room and someone keeps eating my Hot Pockets-.”

“Oh would you just-!”

A chorus of groans and boos cut him off. Faith had to yell over the many voices to get their attention yet again. “Listen up! Yes, alright. The castle is lined up and most of us are going to be leaving Cleveland.”

Faith ignored Wood and the narrowed gaze he leveled on her. There was a ‘conversation’ he’d insist on having once he got her alone.

 _‘Like that’s going to happen.’_ Faith scoffed. She wasn’t about to be available for anymore ‘talking’.

“Ooh, I want a tower room!” Andrew piped up loud enough over the excited voices of the Actives.

**S**

John always wondered why his Father had left him. He'd spent his childhood trying to figure out the reasons- thinking he'd never been good enough, maybe he'd been a disappointment to Henry somehow…

 _“Your Father…”_ Larry sighed heavily, his guilt evident. _“He was a member of our group; Men of Letters…”_

And the explanation?

John still wasn’t sure what to believe but it certainly made sense- at least it was a possible –skewed but possible- reason for his disappearance.

 _‘What happened? What did he do with the box?’_ John scowled at the pages on the table in front of him. He had enough to do finding this Yellow Eyed bastard…

Who was Henry to him, anyway?

John had a Father growing up, his Mother remarried…

“I think you should look into it.” Sÿndra spoke softly, drawing John from glaring at the papers to her.  It didn’t seem to bother her which bothered John.

“Mind your own business.” He barked. He grabbed the papers, crumpling them into a hasty pile as he got to his feet. The chair scrapped loudly in the library, drawing attention he didn’t want or need. Sÿndra moved out of his way, her eyes down cast though her cheeks had a rosy tint. She still didn’t speak much and John sighed internally. If he kept snapping at her she would never open up, never really trust he was trying to help her with the krap their lives were.

The scowl never left his face as they walked out into the blazing sunlight. He glanced at her again; she had some color to her skin though the tiredness wasn’t gone. Hell, that wouldn’t ever happen if she didn’t allow herself some sleep but the nightmares were something Sÿndra tried to avoid at all costs. John kept her busy. Put her to cleaning weapons, questioning how it was she’d come to learn that. Bits of her story were all he could pull from her and the temptation to do a search on her was strong enough he’d pulled in a favor.

“You’re right.” Sÿndra spoke up, her eyes finding his. “It’s none of my business.” She stepped past him, heading in the direction John had parked. “I’ll stick to learning about this and leave you alone.”

“Dammit.” John sighed. If it weren’t because she came in handy on hunts, he wouldn’t have bothered dealing with a girl again.

_‘I’m not apologizing.’_

And yet he couldn’t help feeling a slight pang of guilt just like he used to when Mary would get upset with him. It was a reminder of the woman taken from him and all because the girl had made a simple comment.

It would be different if it had been one of the boys…

**S**

 


	5. Now You're Gone

 

**S**

John misses his boys. Having Sÿndra around makes it harder not to think about them. He's noticed she is very aware of the situation but she only asked him once. About his obsession with demons, why it's the only thing they Hunt, why his boys aren't with him and John had enough. He demanded answers from her, about her past and the nightmares she keeps torturing herself with … He shouldn't have lashed out.

But they've kept it purely business since then. She doesn't know much aside the fact that metal hurts ghosts, that salt deters certain demons and the demon aspect of Hunting is the source of her questions because Sÿndra has never dealt with John's kind of demon. She's quick to pick up things; lore and what kills what, spotting the signs of supernatural things… the same things he's taught his boys. John has also noticed Sÿndra is more like Dean in that she doesn't protest his orders. Its not that she doesn't question him but its different than Sam's belligerence. When Sÿndra asks its only for clarification, if she doesn't understand the point. 

A part of him enjoys having Sÿndra to teach because it reminds him of his boys when they were first learning about this- about Hunting.

 

**S**

_The darkness moved and fear spiked through her with adrenaline. They were careful to keep her between them, to protect her because she was the one in danger. The road had been hard so far, forced to run because stopping only meant the robed psychos could pounce on them. They had just survived the last attempt to get her, to kill her…_

"…death is…"

_The soft whisper of the words echoed in her head, swam about like a disembodied ghostly voice she couldn't shut out. The dreams were getting worse – nightmares more like it and Sÿndra wore the scars heavily. She could see it, both of them had noticed her haggard expression, the dark circles adorning her eyes._

_Levy motioned them both to halt with a raised fist. The trio paused, Sÿndra hiding the shiver flowing through her body. She didn't like the feeling the house gave off and stranger still was the fact her senses seemed to be heightened unnaturally._

_Levy quietly pried open a window at the side and slowly poked his head into the house. Sÿndra watched him climb through while in her head she pictured every horrible thing she had read about- "Wait."_

_Valen frowned, still holding the duffel of weapons Levy gave him to hold. "Is this the wrong house?"_

_She shook her head. "This isn't right." Sÿndra reached past and grabbed at the back of her cousins shirt but he slipped through the window and into the house. "Levy!" she hissed wide-eyed and tense._

_"I can still hear your whispers, Sÿn." Levy grouched under his breath. He stood framed in the window, a slight frown marring his aquiline features. "Come on." He waved them in with annoyance and a hint of concern. They all knew the risk they took in looking for her Watcher._

_Valen passed the duffel through then waited for Sÿndra to climb through the window before following them insides the dark home._

_Sÿndra stood awkwardly in the room, familiar books littered the floor and chairs- "This isn't right." She muttered, frowning as she took in the sight of all the destruction._

_"Someone has been here." Valen stated once he took a quick glance around what he assumed to be the library. What little Sÿndra had told them about the man she had been sent to live with had not prepared either of the young men for the grand house she had spent the other half of her life._

_"Sÿn!" Levy missed the grab at her arm and with a scowl motioned for Valen to keep pace as they hurried after her._

_"Wait a damn minute, Sÿndra." Valen called just a little bit louder than he should but she ignored him. If he didn't know better, Valen would say that she knew exactly where she was going._

_The room Sÿndra hesitated to walk into had been one of her hated and favorite rooms in the house. The door was dark mahogany carved with symbols she had at first assumed to be some type of art. The door- now torn from its hinges and splintered – had at one point been her alphabet. She had been forced to sit and copy each one of those symbols, which hadn't been so bad except for the part where she had to learn an entirely new language._

"…death is a Slayers gift, Sÿndra. A Potential … well, you should cultivate  _other_  gifts. Like learning dead languages, as well as a couple important demon dialects…"

_The scratch of metal against wood snapped her out of the memory, the little girl in her head pouting because she had to study… Sÿndra stepped over the thresh-hold, her eyes skipping over the weapons scattered about the training room._

_"Andreas…!"_

_Levy stood back, he took a stance close to the door quickly drawing his weapon while his cousin dropped to her knees next to what he'd assumed had been a training dummy._

_The figure shifted, a pained moan cut off quickly. She took his hand in hers, wiped her fingers over his face to get most of the stuffing from his hair and eyes._

_"…go…" Andreas focused his eyes on her, his grip weak. "You're what they want."_

_"But why?" Sÿndra cried softly, confusion and fear marking her features. She could see there was nothing that could help him. Andreas would die-there was already too much blood pooled around him, she felt it soaking the knees of her jeans._

_"Sÿn…" Andreas dragged in a rattling breath, his eyes half closing before he forced them wide. "…RUN…!"_

_The urgency in that one word sent chills through Valen. He grabbed her shoulder intent on pulling Sÿndra to her feet when the first dark figure peeled itself from the shadows._

 

**S**

John has given up ignoring the girl jerking fitfully in her sleep an hour ago. There isn't much he can do about the demons haunting her dreams. Trying to ignore them doesn't do her any good but John didn't bring it up and Sÿndra never volunteers any information. Its been a few months since their visit to Larry Tadum… a visit John keeps trying not to think about but hasn't quite manage. Of course John is curious but he is also very conscious what curiosity could earn you and he has a YED to kill before John allows that curiosity to kill him. Not that Hunting that demon isn't a hazard to his health…

"…run…" Sÿndra kicks out, her hands fisting in the coverlet, features twisted in fear.

John stands up slowly, leaves his papers and maps spread out on the table in the shabby hotel room and moves to stand at the foot of the bed. She has only slept four hours this time and John debates on waking her.

"…please…Levy…" Sÿndra rolls onto her side, she grabs the pillow and hugs it tightly still muttering into the floppy thing that should have been replace years ago.

John doesn't miss her tears and it does something to him that reminds him painfully of being a father. She cries tucking her face into the pillow and he knows its time to pull her out of that hell in her head.

 

**S**

_"Levy!" Sÿndra followed the slow fall of his body, the long knife had sliced across his throat while a second slid too easily into his back, the point shining out of his chest covered in blood._

_She could still hear Valen yelling at her, the sound of his gun and each shot a hollow echo in her head. But she could hear Levy's heartbeat too. It sounded like a drum inside her head, each pounding 'thump' taking a longer pause than the last before repeating. When his knees hit the wooden floor it was like someone had slammed a wrecking ball into bricks. She heard a bone snap, she heard the gasp of breath gurgling with blood, and she thought he might have gotten a word past the mess of vocal cords, blood and tissue…_

_She moved because Valen yanked her out of the room. She did not struggle, did not fight him, and didn't demand they grab Levy as well._

'He's dead.'

_She kept her eyes locked with his as long as possible, she watched Levy sit back on his knees –like he was taking a breather after one of their sessions._

_"Sÿndra!" Valen grabbed her face in his hands. He shook her, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her cheeks and jaw._

_"…Levy…" it was a breathless whisper and her eyes were glazed, her entire being locked in shock and stuck in that one moment._

_"I need you here! Hey!" Valen pushed her up against the wall just outside the back patio. "Sÿndra!"_

_"He's dead…" she felt the burning sensation in her eyes. Sound rushed in like a wave crashing against a cliff. "He's dead." She blinked, her lips trembling-_

_"I'm going to get you out of here." Valen promised though he doubted she cared much what he said. He grabbed her hand in his and held it tightly. They ran through the garden and out to the back of the property where it opened to an alley. There were trashcans set out, filled up and ready to get picked up. It did not give them a place to hide because it didn't matter where they went- the robed freaks always knew and they always came._

_Valen cursed. They were penned in on both sides of the alley._

 

**S**

John carefully grabs a corner of the blanket, he is not about to get within her strike zone. "Sÿndra." He gives it a firm tug that only got her to uncurl from the pillow. "Wake up, kid."

Unbidden comes the image of Dean as a child. Waking him up… John would try his damndest to be quiet going in his room on those nights he came home too late to tuck him in. He'd grab the blanket and tug on the ends until Dean would get frustrated trying to pull them back up and he'd open his eyes to scowl at the offender. Until he'd see John and then it would be a sleepy smile and a muttered 'Daddy'…

Those old memories are more precious to John because there were so few good ones-innocent, normal…

_'Where are hers?'_

Doesn't everyone deserve to have at least one innocent, good memory? John stares at the girl twisted up in the sheets, muttering about death and monsters.

 

**S**

_The explosion shook the ground, it vibrated up through her feet and still … they kept coming._

'Bringers.'

_That's what Andreas had called them before the first one came at her._

_"Run!" Valen shoved her, both stumbling through trash and pieces of dead Bringers scattered in the alley. He yanked her back as another Bringer seemed to materialize from the night. Sÿndra tripped on half a corpse. She felt the ground scrape against her hip through the material of her jeans. Right after that, Sÿndra felt a wave of energy; it was like getting a shot of adrenaline but much more than that. She didn't feel tired at all and that couldn't be possible. None of them had slept more than a couple of hours at a time the past three weeks and never any place that was comfortable._

_Sÿndra blinked but her eyes seemed to see much better-clearer- than before. At her side, Valen dropped to his back, a hand curled around the hilt of the blade stuck in his chest._

_"…Valen…"_

 

**S**

John flinches from the scream tearing out of her. He grab onto her wrists, landing on the brown-carpeted floor with Sÿndra straddling him, hands clamped on his neck. He can feel the coiled tension in her body, the vise her fingers make that cut off his supply of oxygen.

Sÿndra gasps blinking with slight horror at what she's doing to John and pushing the monsters in her head back into the box she wished could be locked away like that guy in the movie  _Dreamcatcher_  based on the Stephen King novel. There should be a room like that in her head…

John drags in a breath then slowly sits up as Sÿndra scrambles off him and moves as far away as the room will allow her. "Another one." He croaks eliciting a wince from the girl hastily wiping tears from her face.

"I'm sorry, John..." she apologizes yet again. "I shouldn't have fallen asleep-."

"You needed it." He rasps getting to his feet. "Quit saying you're sorry." He scowls then tosses the blankets back on the bed. There is an 'I'm sorry' at least once in the day with Sÿndra and just like her quiet acceptance of this 'fate' forced on her, it puts a scowl on his face and sours his mood.

"I almost snapped your neck." Sÿndra retorts with just a hint of annoyance. John just doesn't know who it is directed at. "You can't be doing that, John. I'm …"

"A fitful sleeper?" he arches a dark eyebrow. John knows its not the moment to tease her and there is nothing funny about what happened. She could easily have killed him and John knows better than to approach her in one of her nightmares. That damn protectiveness he feels for the girl is going to get him seriously injured one of these days. "You're making a joke of this." Sÿndra huffs. She stands up, smoky gray eyes still haunted by the dream and confused by his reaction. "I can hurt you, John."

"I know." But so could a hundred other things out there. "You didn't." though he'll have a hard time hiding the bruises her fingers have left on his neck by morning. "Go on." He tilts his dark head to the bathroom and after a long silent moment, Sÿndra grabs her bag and leaves him alone.

She cries again in the shower. She's still living it, the night she was Called… Levy and Valen paid the price and Andreas' words ring in her ears.

What was a Slayer?

Was there anything else than death?

She had asked Andreas those questions and his answer had always been the same;  _"Let's hope you never find out."_

"They died for me… because of me." Sÿndra rests her forehead on the wall. No matter how hard she tries to mute their voices they'd never leave her. She can't sleep, afraid of having one of those dreams or worse yet, another nightmare. But she especially dreads this one- of the night she became The Slayer.

No… It was time to move on, time to go, though Sÿndra has no idea where to go or what she would do. She has no real education, nothing to earn a living… but she can't stay with John. She can't keep using him because Sÿndra is hiding, and that is the last thing she should do.

_'I'm the Slayer.'_

 

**S**

Willow sits on the hill overlooking the castle. They've only just started moving in and there is still a lot of work to do before its habitable. Buffy hadn't fought the idea of having a castle as their base of operations even with the upgrades they have planned.

"You have co-ordinates."

Willow drops her eyes to the tablet in her lap. She removes her hand from the screen and finds at least a dozen more Actives scattered through Africa. She sighs.

"Call Xander."

"Calling Xander." It repeats. It doesn't take long before the screen blinks and there's Xander.

 _"How many this time?"_  he asks by way of greeting.

"A few." Willow answers apologetically. "You look dirty." She notes and he really does. There's dirt on his eye patch-

 _"I am."_  Xander grouses.  _"We just took down some kind of worm-snake thingy. You know, it kinda reminded me of the Mayor."_

Willow scrunches her nose at the reminder. "Gross."

 _"Eh,"_  Xander shrugs his shoulder. He steps out of the screen and offers her a view of the carcass slowly decomposing on its own.  _"It doesn't smell so bad…"_

"I'm glad I don't have to smell it." Willow replies as Xander comes back into view. "I sent you the co-ordinates."

 _"I shouldn't be surprised you created an App to locate Activated Slayers."_  He shakes his head, a rueful smile on his face.  _"We'll go pick them up. Hopefully, I'll get a shower somewhere along the way."_

"I can probably make it rain." Willow offers. "Though I really shouldn't…"

 _"Thanks, Wills but I'll just stick to non-magically aided baths."_  He chuckles tiredly. Everyone is running around locating more Actives, bringing them to safety. Or cleaning up after the First and the Bringers- stragglers that popped up all over the place without warning or reason. They didn't stop trying to kill Actives and that has all sorts of theories being tossed about. Mainly, that the Bringers were sort of like a program; once set in motion there's nothing that can stop it- unless of course you had the code- none of them do. Taking down the First didn't affect the Bringers one bit. And a Bringer is usually the first 'monster' an Active encounters. Gone were the days where the Slayer's first kill was a vampire.

"There's less and less, Xander." Willow tries to sound cheerful. But its getting close to that time of year again and this time there's a lot of Actives which means they might get a bigger baddie this time around. She really hopes not. "You might be coming home sooner than we planned."

 _"Home…"_  he sounds it out, testing the feel of it. Sunnydale had been home his whole life and now it was just a hole in the ground.  _"Guess if I have to find a new home… a castle will do."_

"Wait 'till you see the HEART." Willow grins. She and Oz have gone over the-

 _"What heart?"_  Xander frowns sounding apprehensive.

"Not literally. It's our communications headquarter. We nicknamed it the HEART because it's at the center of the castle." Willow explains.

 _"Right-."_  He looks away and nods to someone off screen.  _"Sorry Wills. Gotta go."_

"Be careful." Willow urges.

 _"Hey, I've got one eye left. I plan on keeping this one."_  He points to the un-patched eye and winks.

Willow shakes her head as the vid-call ends. She misses Xander, misses being able to hang out with her friends like before.

Everything is so different and it has been nothing like she had imagined her life would be when she grew up.

Magic? Vampires? Demons? All kinds of monsters that shouldn't exist…and its all part of her reality.

 

**S**

John remembers what Larry told him about Henry and the Men Of Letters. How Larry recognized John from the image in Sÿndra's memories. And John is curious about all of it but he's got the YED to get first before digging into his Father's past-

John looks up from the journal. Sÿndra stands quietly by the bed, her duffel leaning against the dresser.

"I…"

"If you're going to apologize…" John warns in his gruffest voice. He watches the expression on her face change and feels a smile tugging at his mouth.

"I'd have to do something I feel bad for." Sÿndra retorts though she does feel bad for taking off. They finished the Hunt. And John is focused on his own monster… the same one since she met him and John doesn't want to talk about it.

"Here." John chucks a shiny black toy at her. "Take it, Sÿndra." He orders when she frowns at the cell phone.

"I won't need it." She moves forward and places it on the table as John stands up.

"You are one stubborn…" he sighs. "You gonna give this back too?" he scowls and the bundle of bills he holds out to her gets a long thoughtful look. "You will need it." He states and slaps it into her hand.

Sÿndra struggles with keeping the cash but that's the one thing she will need and it's not like she didn't help earn some of it. Thanks to John and some lessons, not to mention her Slayer extras, Sÿndra has become a skilled pool hustler. The cards where easier to learn, it was the one lesson she had looked forward to with Andreas. Especially on rainy evenings- it had been easier than chess.

"Thank you."

There's so much more to it and they both know it. John fidgets because he doesn't want her thanks. It's been to his benefit to have her along. His own personal Slayer… why the hell wouldn't he keep Sÿndra around?

She steps back. "I'll check in with Bobby and Pastor Jim once in a while."

"It'd be easier with a cell phone." John points out but she just shakes her head. "How is anyone supposed to get a hold of you?"

"You won't need to." She promises hefting the duffel onto her shoulder. "I'll know if you need my help."

"Those prophetic dreams?" John scoffs. "How's that gonna work when you don't sleep, Sÿndra?" he crosses his arms, that same scowl furrowing his brow and darkening his eyes. It makes her smile and that's the image of John she's going to carry around.

All John gets is a shrug. The door closes softly behind her and he just hopes it takes her a few days before she finds the cell phone he stuffed towards the bottom of her bag. He's not about to lose track of his Slayer.

 

**S**

It's getting dark and the road has been lonely the past four hours. Five days on the road on her own only this time Sÿndra hasn't been afraid to stop and rest. She's not looking over her shoulder for Bringers in every shadow thanks to Larry Tadum and his spell. Some of those symbols had been familiar but Sÿndra hadn't mentioned it to John or questioned Larry. Magic wasn't a favorite subject of John's even though he didn't hesitate to use what was at hand to get the results he wanted. And thanks to that she's not so paranoid. Still, evil doesn't rest and her purpose is to slay…

The road branches off, black top turning to dirt and rocks. She keeps walking; head tilted towards the side road and focuses her ears. The sound of music and people drifts towards her, faint enough no normal person would ever notice. Sÿndra pauses, she glances up at the darkening sky, watching the sun set behind the trees and sighs. She tugs on the strap of her duffel and turns to the sounds only because her stomach keeps protesting its lack of food.

It's another two miles before she spots the building in a large clearing. The parking lot is just some flat patch of dirt, all kinds of cars sit silent off to either side. Not one has parked in front of the door. The sign above the wood building is lit from beneath.

"The Road House." Sÿndra thoughtfully passes her eyes over the structure and nods silent agreement. "It suits you." She says to the Road House glowing warmly from its windows. She walks up to the entrance and steps inside looking around the group of people- rough men in variations of what she's come to call 'Bobby's look'. It almost makes her want to smile. The low-lit bar feels strangely cozy and Sÿndra makes her way to an empty table in a corner. She's getting 'looks' from the men that draws her attention to the raggedy faded t-shirt she's wearing, the dirt staining her frayed jeans and the threadbare jacket now faded to gray. She forces her hands not to reach and check the mess her long hair has to, she's almost certain it's become a birds nest. It's not that vanity that makes her so uncomfortable with the stares, but she doesn't want to draw attention –good or bad.

"Hey,"

Sÿndra looks up at the tiny blond girl setting a frosted beer down.

"I didn't order-."

"He did." She smiles, tilting her head left where Sÿndra spots one of the men a few tables away raising his beer to her.

"Do you have anything to eat?" Sÿndra looks away from the smiling man, ignoring him, to look up at the waitress.

"Not much," she shrugs. "Cold sandwiches and chips."

"I'll have two." Sÿndra sits uncomfortably, her eyes skipping over the crowd and wishes she had kept walking but somehow she doubts there's any place more out of the way than the Road House.

"I'm Jo." She waits for a reply but Sÿn only gives her a perfunctory smile. "Kay. I'll be back."

At the bar, Ellen takes a good look at her new patron. The dusty, well-worn boots, faded torn jeans, the Led Zepp t-shirt and that almost gets a smile from her. She looks to Jo as she comes behind the bar. "Who's that?"

"Wouldn't say." Jo shrugs while preparing two sandwiches. "She's got Roy buying her beer…" she trails off as Ellen snorts in amusement.

"She's not drinking it." Ellen notes while trying to figure out why she's feeling like something isn't right in her place. "Food?" she frowns as Jo takes the plate and bag of chips.

"Girl needs to eat, Mom." Jo shrugs smiling as she walks around the bar again.

At the table, Sÿndra is glaring at her duffel, rummaging around inside until her hand grabs onto the vibrating, ringing lo-jack that John snuck into her bag.

"That sneaky, crabby …" Sÿndra huffs under her breath. She's about to crush it in her hand when the screen shows a familiar number. She puts it to her ear warily. "Hello…"

Jo sets the food on the table and before she leaves, Sÿndra pushes the beer motioning for her to take it away. Jo can hear a soft "I don't like being on a leash, Pastor Jim." that grabs her attention. Still, Jo turns away and tries to stay close enough to hear some of the one sided conversation.

"It hasn't been that long…" Sÿndra huffs with annoyance. "I'm not promising anything. He planted this tracker in my bag!" she glares at her plate feeling her stomach rumbling. "Fine, I was going to drop in … eventually."

Jo takes the empties to the bar and tilts her head towards the table Sÿndra is sitting at, finally eating her food. "I think she's a friend of Murphy."

"Jim?" Ellen frowns, her eyes automatically going to the brunette. "Alright." She nods and grabs the phone dialing automatically. Its picked up on the second ring and the familiar voice answers. "I've got a young girl here my Jo says was just on the phone with you but she's not old enough to be in our line of work. Is she?"

At the table, Sÿndra pops the last chip in her mouth when the empty chair is pulled out and sat in. it's the same guy that sent her a beer and he scoots a lot closer than she likes.

"Buy you another beer?" he smiles.

"I don't drink." Sÿndra answers. She gives it another few seconds but he doesn't look as though he's going to leave her alone. With a sigh, she gets up intending to pay for her food at the bar.

"Whoa, hey, you're not leaving yet?" he turns in the seat and grabs her wrist in a firm grip.

Sÿndra grabs the back of his neck with her free hand and shoves him face first into the table. The crack of the table splintering startles her simply because she used more force than was necessary. Around the bar, people are staring and quite a few burly men are on their feet.

Ellen quickly hangs up. This is the trouble she was sensing and hurries around the bar towards Sÿndra. "Alright, get back to your drinks." She orders with a stern expression. "You." She points at Sÿndra and motions to the door.

Sÿndra quickly grabs her duffel and follows the pointed finger. Outside she stops on the dirt packed parking lot and faces the older woman. "I'm … sorry about your table."

"There's plenty more." Ellen shrugs eyeing Sÿndra, still trying to understand why Jim would say she was a Hunter.

"I…" Sÿndra doesn't know if she should offer to pay for the table or not-

"You know Jim? From  _Blue Earth_ …" Ellen watches the wary expression crossing over Sÿndra's face.

"Do you?"

Ellen smiles. "Said you'd probably need a place to rest." She tilts her head motioning for Sÿndra to follow her. "Got some rooms in the back. Aint fancy but it's the least I can offer another Hunter."

 

**S**

Ash has a Hunt. He can see the Harvelle's are going to fight over this one too and tries to stay out of the way.

"Stirring the pot…" Sÿndra murmurs from her seat just outside the back door.

"Damn…!" Ash drags in a breath and shakes his head. "You're like some Ninja or somethin'." They both hear Jo and Ash frowns. "Its goin' downhill…"

"What's the Hunt?" Sÿndra ignores the arguing pair and looks at Ash. He's wearing another vest-or it could be the same one, she's not exactly sure because they look the same.

"Agh, just some warewolf- might not be. Could be something else." He shrugs.

"Where?" Sÿndra gets to her feet, dusting off her hands and the backside of her jeans.

"StarCity. You gonna take it?" Ash snorts, he looks her over once more and shakes his head. "Shouldn't judge a book by its cover."

"Good advice." Sÿndra agrees. "Get me the file. I'll look it over…" they both step out of Jo's way when she storms out the side door ignoring them both.

"Joanna Beth!" Ellen stops at the door, hands on her hips and glares at Jo's retreating back.

 

**S**

Sÿndra sits up in the bed, eyes trained on the door waiting for it to open. The coiled tension leaves her body when a familiar blond head peeks in.

"Come in." Sÿndra sighs. She almost laughs when Jo utters a startle 'eep!' and bangs her elbow on the frame.

"Dammit, Sÿn!" Jo shoves the door closed and plops down on the foot of the bed.

"You could've knocked." Sÿndra points out and scoots into the corner where she can rest her back against the wall. "So…"

"What?" Jo scowls still nursing her aching elbow. "I don't see why I can't go on a Hunt. I mean, you're going!"

Sÿndra closes her eyes. She's already told 3 Hunters that she's the Slayer. She's told them more than she should, broken the one rule the Council has stressed…  _'Its gone. No Council and no Watcher.'_

"You can't go." Sÿndra says knowing that's why Jo is in her room. "You heard your Mom. She's right. Its safer at The Road House." She looks at Jo and the scowl on her face. "Think of your Dad…"

"That's the job." Jo snaps. "I'm not kid! Why can't you all see that?" she demands jumping to her feet.

"You act like it." Sÿndra replies in the same soft, calm tone.

"This is angry." Jo clarifies glaring at Sÿndra.

"This?" Sÿn points at the pacing girl in her room. "It's a lot like a tantrum. Like the one you had earlier when Ellen told you 'No'." before Jo gets a word of denial out Sÿndra leans forward on her raised knees. "Like the other instances I've noticed you arguing with Ellen because she's trying to keep you safe. That's her job. Keeping you safe, trying to guide you so you don't make the same mistakes she's made. But you're stuck on this one thing, this need to kill monsters-."

"You don't get it!" Jo snaps. "You wouldn't understand and I thought you'd see it from my side."

Sÿndra shakes her head feeling more tired than any time before. "No … I don't, Jo… because I envy you."

"Why?" Jo scoffs.

"You have your Mom, and Ash… family." Sÿndra has a sad smile on her face, silver eyes clouding with memories of a family that's dead. "You're lucky, Joanna."

Jo snorts in disbelief. "Don't make fun of me."

"Some people don't get to choose. You shouldn't throw this away … the grass isn't always greener." She ends, arching a dark eyebrow.

"You are so ….  _Cryptic_!" Jo huffs and drops onto the bed once again. "I'm going to be a Hunter no matter what anyone says." She warns with a side-glance at Sÿndra.

They sit in silence for a few minutes- Jo still fuming because she's being denied a Hunt while Sÿndra, who can't be any older than Jo, is going to the same dangerous and life threatening situation Ellen says is too dangerous for Jo. Where the hell is the sense in that reasoning?

Sÿndra just wonders why it is that people always want the opposite of what they have? Why most people are dissatisfied with their lot…

"We should camp out."

Jo turns to face Sÿndra, confusion warring with disbelief. "What?"

"Camping." Sÿndra repeats. Its time she communed with the first Slayer and she has the kit they took from Andreas' home. "When I come back. Will you go with me?"

"Camping?" Jo repeats because that's not any sort of consolation for being denied a Hunt.

 

**S**


	6. I Slipped Through His Hands

There's a restlessness. She's felt it before, Hunting with John and more at the Road House. She's coming into her 3rd year as The Slayer and its been longer than any of the others. She hasn’t dealt with anything remotely slayery since the Bringers. And they haven't found her.

But it doesn’t feel right. Hunting with John is no excuse either, because it had been an excuse to hide from anything to do with Slayer business.

And that’s not good.

She has a calling, even if she doesn’t understand why it came so late but then, the Powers That Be are working their own timeline. Who is she to question it? Just an expendable girl, right?

_'What if I'm not?'_

Sÿndra knows her time is coming…

**S**

Its not bad; the bar he walks into. It’s the same smoky atmosphere, the murmur of voices and the smell of stale beer. He orders a beer at the bar and looks around the establishment, picking out the drunks he could easily dupe into a game of pool. There's only one table and its in use.

He takes the beer and finds a seat close enough he can watch the game and the players. He's a little surprised to find the girl at the table. And more when he notices she's the one taking the cash.

He sets his quarter at the end of the line- only four so he's got plenty of time to sit and drink his beer. Long enough to see who's gonna be his target. And he notices when she looks at him.

**S**

Sÿndra decides its in her interest to stop for the night. The restlessness is not going to keep her awake and the drive to StarCity is not short. She's gone over the conversation with Jo the past hundred miles; maybe Sÿndra should've taken Jo on that camping trip… And then explained it wasn’t _just_   camping. She wonders if that would have appeased Jo for a little while.

She takes a room in the first hotel she sees. All she grabs from the trunk is her overnight bag; a back pack with a change of clothes, basic toiletries and the Hunter necessities as John believes. The canister of salt, the flask of holy water, the rosary, her silver dagger, the UV flashlight and the gun with silver and metal rounds. Each in their own clip, of course. The room is like all the others she can remember; dark colored rug she will _not_ be walking on barefoot, a bed and the flattest pillows she's ever seen. There's a TV and dresser, next to that is the door to the bathroom. She takes a look and finds a clean shower, toilet and sink.

It takes her 5minutes to secure the room, then she drops her back on the dresser next to the TV and walks out. She heads to the bar she saw. It’s a good walk and some of the restless energy is worked out by the time she reaches the  faded blue door peppered with gouges and nicks.

Inside is what she thought it would be; dark, musty and old. Its not exactly full of drunks but its not empty either. She orders a ginger ale from the bartender who gives her a funny look before handing it over. She takes it, sipping as she slowly walks through the space. There's a pool table and she watches the men, thinking if its worth the trouble and after 2 games she sets her won quarter behind the 3rd one with a smile at the looks she gets. She hopes that doesn’t scare them off.

_"I like when you smile, Sÿn."_

She covers the frown and walks to the separation trying to ignore the voice and the reminder of what she's lost. That’s when her eyes pick out the three men in the dark corner. They have a game going and it’s the perfect distraction while the pool table clears up.

**S**

Dean can tell she's playing them. Her attention is split; between him and the man she's playing with. It doesn’t affect her game though.

Its his turn. He smiles taking up the cue and she motions him to break. He's about to decline but then why not? He sinks the stripes; 2 and then he misses.

She takes the solids, sinks the first and misses the 2nd.

Dean misses on his first try. He steps back and watches her serious expression as it passes over him. She bends down to take her shot and he's not looking at her hands.

She misses.

Again, Dean misses his stripe and looks at her. She frowns, her eyes narrowing as she studies him in silence. She can tell he's missing in purpose, it’s the calm demeanor that gives him away and she doesn’t like being toyed with.

"Do you want to make this interesting?" Dean asks when he takes a step closer to her.

"That would depend…" Sÿndra ignores the slight shiver his voice sent through her.

"On what, darlin'." Dean offers a slow, sexy smile, leaning in to her just a little more. He's been watching her play, watching the way she moves, the fit of her jeans, her hands and the way she handles the cue stick…

"How stupid you think I am." Sÿndra replies. She brushes past him and takes the next solid. She ignores the tingling all along her side where she touched him.

Dean fumbles. He frowns and turns to see her sink all the solids without missing. And then she takes 9 bouncing it from one end of the table to the corner pocket.

"Enjoy the rest of your night." Sÿndra drops the cue stick on the table and grabs the $20's in a neat little pile. She walks past the complaints of how they haven't gotten a chance to win back their cash.

"Sorry guys," Dean leaves too. "Change of plans." He catches up to her outside in the parking lot. "Hey! The game's not over."

"I don’t need the trouble so go back and hustle the fools I left behind." Sÿndra orders over her shoulder. She doesn’t stop walking away from him.

"Who said anyth-." Dean lengthens his stride and nods. "Alright. How about a beer?"

"I'm driving." Sÿndra replies without looking at him.

"Me too." Dean agrees. "You know, that was rude." He sees the frown on her face when she finally glances at him. "You didn’t tell me your name."

"Go away."  She chooses then to cut across the street. Much to her annoyance, so does he.

"Baby-."

"I'm not." Sÿndra stops on the sidewalk. "Not your 'baby', not your 'darling'. No." she points her finger at him like he's a child that needs berating.

Dean should be annoyed by that, by her … he's surprised that he's finding this amusing.

"No?" he echoes trying to hide the smile tugging at his mouth.

Sÿndra stares up at him. She can see the slight confusion on his face and the twitch of his lips; he doesn’t believe her.

"Hasn’t anyone ever said 'No' to you before?" she wonders in confusion. He couldn’t always have been this good looking, and at one point he had to have been clumsy and awkward… right?

"Who hasn’t?" Dean shrugs. He's been told No before and some actually meant the No. but there had been a few that said it without meaning it and a little charm always got that Yes they had wanted to say in the first place. Besides, what was a No in world of a Yes at the next bar? "I just… not often I get a flat No."

"Congratulations." Sÿndra flashes a stiff smile and turns away from him. "No."

"N-? Hey!" Dean follows her, confused she's really saying No and wondering why its bugging him and why he's still interested.

"You're not that pretty." Sÿndra tosses over her shoulder and keeps walking. Really, she's just annoyed by the strange feeling she gets around him. She doesn’t like not knowing what it is or why it is. _'What does it mean?'_   she wonders and then the possibility this is another Slayer thing. Some kind of warning signal…?

"Now I'm positive you like me." Dean grins. He hurries to get in front of her and stops. "You just hustled me back there. The least you can do is-."

"I don’t drink." Sÿndra cuts in.

"Don’t…?" Dean frowns but he shrugs it off. "At all?" he wonders.

She arches a dark eyebrow, annoyance flitting across her features.

"Alright." Dean agrees. "Okay then…" he smiles and takes a step closer to her.

Sÿndra doesn’t move, though she does have to lean her head back to keep eye contact with him. _'He s really tall.'_  She frowns on the heels of that thought.

Dean runs his knuckles lightly over her cheek and gets that feeling; like a warm surge of energy. He feels her slight flinch at his touch. _'She feels it too.'_   Of that he's certain and it brings a smile to his face. Her eyes are dark and wide but she doesn’t move away when he bends down to her, his eyes locked with hers. He can feel her lean into him and threads his fingers into her loose hair.

Sÿndra holds her breath, she feels the warmth pooling in her belly. The soft touch of his hand on her face, skimming down the line of her jaw and the soft breath that skims over her lips-

"No." Sÿndra jerks out of his reach. She bats his hand out of her hair and frowns up at him. "Go away." She scowls, frustrated with the soft, breathless sound of her voice and the heat flushing her face with a blush she can't hide. _'What the hell is this?'_

Dean frowns. He felt it too, heat and want and he's not sure this is a good thing after all. He takes a step away from her. "Yeah." He agrees clearing his throat. "You're right."

Sÿndra feels disappointed and then she's angry because of it. And confused because … _Is_ she right?

**S**

Its quiet.

He's not sure what to say or if its something he should even mention but then- what the hell? Why wouldn’t she have told him?

"…is…?" Sÿndra stops and draws a breath because he's tense and maybe it wasn’t what he expected. "I…thank you." She closes her eyes and bites her lip. _'What the hell? Why did I say that?'_

"Thank you?" Dean echoes. He's not sure if he's supposed to be angry or if he'd rather laugh.

"Umm…?"

"You … you're a- were…" Dean drags in a breath and throws his arm over his face.

"Well," Sÿndra chances a glance at him, raising her head from his chest. "Not anymore."

That seems to get a snort of laughter from Dean but he doesn’t say anything and it makes her nervous.

"You don’t-. I mean, does it bother you …?" she stops when he moves his arm and lifts his head off the pillows to look at her.

He can see her confusion and something about the uncertainty in her expression makes him push aside how he feels about the not knowing. His hand cups on her cheek, thumb tracing her soft lips and then pulls her towards him.

Sÿndra doesn’t even hesitate. She feels like a lost child trying to hold on to the only familiar thing left and yet she doesn’t even know his name.

Dean hasn’t felt anything near this before. He's not in a hurry to move on and while he's always been about sharing the pleasing, its different here. He's got no thoughts about tomorrow - he wont allow those thoughts.

Her hands are tentative, sliding down his chest around his hips and up his back in a slow path. Her lips are soft, her teeth biting down on his lip and the heat pooling in his groin ignites into something else. She doesn’t hesitate to wrap her legs around his waist when he grabs her thigh. She'd thought, at first, there was no way they'd fit but …

"Why?" Dean frowns, he's crazy to be asking but it just came out.

Sÿndra blinks up at him. "What…? Why you?" her brow furrows. "Why now?" what's she supposed to tell him? Because she doesn’t know _why_. She huffs a breath. "You're seriously asking me 'why', _now_?"

Dean blinks. He nods and he's gotta be the biggest idiot ever. "Right." He can ask her later.

**S**

Sÿndra's been staring at him, trying to figure out why this feels … she can't explain the feeling and that’s frustrating. "Is… does it always…?" she trails off watching the slight furrowing of his brow.

"Always what?" Dean questions. He trails his fingers through her hair feeling like he's got no worries, nothing pending, nothing to Hunt or kill and nothing on his ass.

Just the girl lying on top of him.

"…Feel like this." She whispers, her eyes drops to his mouth and the smile that ghosts over it.

"…different with … others." He doesn’t like the thought of her finding out. "What did you feel?" and that deepens his frown. _'Where the hell did that come from?'_

She's not sure she wants to tell him. She doesn’t know his name, she's never going to see him again so… that thought; not seeing him again… it makes pit in her stomach, feels like a band squeezing her chest trying to cut off her breaths…

"I guess… it felt like, drowning?" she frowns because that’s not exactly it. "That desperate feeling when you can't breathe…" she offers an embarrassed shrug and peeks at his through her lashes. "Panic." She admits softly. "I felt… like I… I needed you." She touches her fingers to his mouth, her expression thoughtful. "And then… it was… I don’t know, just… full."

"Huh?" Dean's brow furrows.

"Shut up." Sÿndra lightly slaps her hand over his face. "You're the one asking." She retorts at Dean's chuckle. "And if you make fun of me for sounding like some sappy moron…."

Dean rolls them so she's lying on the bed. "Go on." He urges, grinning at her. "I want to hear this threat."

"No threat, blondie." Sÿndra smiles. "I only make promises." She says softly. She hesitates to kiss him, her hands resting on his shoulders slowly twine around his neck and tugs him down. She can feel his arms slip around her, pulling her into him and she feels it too.

Like they're too far apart even though he's right there.

**S**

 


End file.
